iNTRODUCTIOr 


ERATUf\E 


PAINTER 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


INTRODUCTION 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


ILLUSTRATIVE    SELECTIONS 


WITH  NOTES. 


BY 
F.  V.  N.  PAINTER,  A.M.,  D.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  MODERN  LANGUAGES  IN  ROANOKE  COLLEGE. 
AUTHOR  OF  A  HISTORY  OF  EDUCATION,  INTRODUCTION  TO  ENGLISH 
LITERATURE,  ETC. 


LEACH,    SHEWELL,    &   SANBORN, 

BOSTON.      NEW  YORK.     CHICAGO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1897, 
Bv  LEACH,  SHEWELL,  &  SANBORN. 


C.   J.    PETERS   If   SON,    TYPOGRAPHERS,    BOSTON. 


BERWICK   &   SMITH,    PRINTERS. 


ps 


PREFACE. 

THIS  work  is  intended  to  be  a  companion  volume  to 
the  «  Introduction  to  English  Literature,"  which  has  been 
cordially  received  by  teachers  in  all  parts  of  our  country. 
As  will  be  seen  on  examination,  it  follows  substantially 
the  same  plan,  though  its  limited  field  makes  a  fuller  treat- 
ment desirable  and  feasible. 

What  was  said  in  the  preface  to  that  work  about 
teaching  literature  may  be  substantially  repeated  here. 
Literature  cannot  be  learned  from  the  ordinary  manuals. 
While  they  furnish  many  bare  facts  about  literature,  they 
do  not  present  literature  itself.  As  a  result  the  student 
knows  nothing  by  his  own  investigation,  and  his  hi 
training  is  reduced  to  an  exercise  of  memory. 

The  present  work  aims  to  introduce  the  student  to 
American  literature  itself,  with  such  helps  as  will  give 
him  an  intelligent  appreciation  of  it.  The  introductory 
chapter  contains,  it  is  hoped,  some  helpful  observations. 
The  "General  Survey"  of  each  period  presents  the  con- 
ditions under  which  the  various  authors  wrote.  Th 
sketches  of  the  representative  writers  give  with  consul* 
able  fulness  the  leading  biographical  facts,  together  with 
a  critical  estimate  of  their  works.  The  selections  for 
special  study,  which  are  chosen  to  illustrate  the  distin- 
guishing characteristics  of  each  author,  are  supplied  with 
explanatory  notes.  In  this  way,  it  may  fairly  be  claimed, 
the  student  will  gain  a  clear  and  satisfactory  knowledge 

of  our  best  authors. 

iii 

1512309 


iv  PREFACE. 

But  in  pursuing  this  method,  another  important  result 
is  obtained.  In  addition  to  this  knowledge  of  our  prin- 
cipal writers,  the  student  learns  something  of  the  manner 
in  which  any  author  is  to  be  studied.  His  literary  taste 
is  developed ;  and  in  his  subsequent  studies  in  literature, 
he  will  be  capable,  in  some  measure  at  least,  of  forming 
an  intelligent  and  independent  judgment. 

It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  this  book,  as  its  name 
indicates,  is  but  an  introduction  to  American  literature. 
It  is  not  intended  to  be  a  comprehensive  manual  of  ref- 
erence. It  treats  only  of  the  leading  periods  and  princi- 
pal writers.  In  using  the  book  in  the  class-room,  for 
which  it  is  chiefly  designed,  it  is  not  necessary  that  the 
students  be  restricted  to  the  texts  supplied.  If  time 
permits,  it  is  desirable  that  the  study  of  the  various 
authors  be  more  extended.  Other  texts  may  be  intro- 
duced in  their  proper  periods  ;  and  for  such  teachers  as 
may  desire  to  follow  this  course,  or  to  give  merely  a  gen- 
eral preparation  for  the  intelligent  reading  of  our  leading 
authors,  an  edition  is  published  without  the  annotated 
selections. 

With  grateful  feelings  for  the  kind  reception  ac- 
corded his  "  Introduction  to  English  Literature,"  the 
author  sends  forth  the  present  work  in  the  hope  that 
it  may  be  found  likewise  to  supply  a  want. 

F.  V.  N.  PAINTER. 
ROANOKE  COLLEGE, 

March,  1897. 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE. 

To  meet  the  requirements  of  all  institutions  where  American 
literature  is  regularly  taught,  the  book  is  published  with  and  -with- 
out the  annotated  selections. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION          .     .     .  i 


FIRST  COLONIAL  PERIOD 9 

CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH 20 

COTTON  MATHER 25 

II. 

SECOND  COLONIAL  PERIOD 31 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 41 

JONATHAN  EDWARDS 51 

III. 

REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD 59 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON 71 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 81 

IV. 

FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD 91 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 108 

JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER 122 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT 134 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 150 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 164 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 181 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW 194 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELI 211 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 225 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 239 

V. 

SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD 253 


vi  CONTENTS. 

ILLUSTRATIVE  SELECTIONS  WITH  NOTES. 

CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH  — 

His  Capture  by  the  Indians 273 

COTTON  MATHER  — 

The  Voyage  to  New  England 280 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  — 

Preliminary  Address  to  Poor  Richard's  Almanac 289 

JONATHAN  EDWARDS  — 

Resolutions 299 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON  — 

Declaration  of  Independence 307 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON  — 

The  Federalist 316 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  — 

Rip  Van  Winkle 323 

The  Broken  Heart 337 

JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  — 

Escape  from  a  Panther 347 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT  — 

Thanatopsis 355 

To  a  Waterfowl 357 

A  Forest  Hymn 358 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian 361 

The  Death  of  the  Flowers 362 

The  Evening  Wind 393 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE — 

The  Raven 371 

The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 374 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  — 

Art 386 


CONTENTS.  vii 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE—  PAGB 

The  Gray  Champion 399 

Fancy's  Show-Box 4°6 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW  — 

A  Psalm  of  Life 4H 

Footsteps  of  Angels 41 5 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor 4ID 

The  Arsenal  at  Springfield 421 

The  Building  of  the  Ship 422 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  — 

What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks 439 

The  Present  Crisis 44' 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 444 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  — 

Memories 459 

The  Ship-Builders 4^1 

Barclay  of  Ury 463 

Maud  Muller 46? 

Tauler 4?i 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  — 

Old  Ironsides 477 

The  Last  Leaf 478 

The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous 479 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 480 

Contentment 481 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece 483 


AMERICAN    LITERATURE 


INTR  OD  UCTION. 

No  other  department  of  study  is  more  important  than 
that  of  literature.  /  It  not  only  supplies  the  mind  with 
knowledge,  but  also  refines  it  in  thought  and  feeling. 
Literature  embodies  the  best  thought  of  the  world,  an 
acquaintance  with  which  is  the  essential  element  of  cul- 
ture. Of  all  literature,  that  of  our  native  country  stands 
in  closest  relation  to  us,  and  naturally  possesses  for  us  the 
greatest  interest. 

^The  term  literature  needs  to  be  carefully  considered, 
and  its  general  and  its  restricted  meaning  clearly  com- 
prehended. In  its  widest  sense,  literature  may  be  re- 
garded as  including  the  aggregate  body  of  printed  matter 
in  the  world.  It  is  thus  a  record  of  the  acts,  thoughts, 
and  emotions  of  the  human  family.  Its  magnitude  ren- 
ders it  absolutely  impossible  for  any  man  ever  to  become 
acquainted  with  more  than  a  very  small  part  of  it.  The 
largest  libraries,  notably  that  of  the  British  Museum  and 
the  Bibliothtque  Nationale  of  Paris,  number  more  than 
a  million  volumes. 

This  general  or  universal  literature,  of  which  we  have 
just  spoken,  is  obviously  made  up  of  national  literatures. 
A  national  literature  is  composed  of  the  literary  produc- 


2  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

tions  of  a  particular  nation.  After  reaching  a  state  of 
civilization,  every  nation  expresses  its  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings in  writing.  Thus  we  have  the  literature  of  Greece, 
of  Rome,  of  England,  of  America,  and  of  other  nations 
both  ancient  and  modern. 

But  the  word  literature  has  also  a  restricted  meaning, 
which  it  is  important  to  grasp.  In  any  literary  produc- 
tion we  may  distinguish  between  the  thoughts  that  are 
presented,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  are  presented. 
We  may  say,  for  example,  "The  sun  is  rising;"  or,  ascend- 
ing to  a  higher  plane  of  thought  and  emotion,  we  may 
present  the  same  fact  in  the  language  of  Thomson :  — 

"  But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  King  of  Day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  lessening  cloud, 
The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow 
Illumed  with  fluid  gold,  his  near  approach 
Betoken  glad."  J 

It  is  thus  apparent  that  the  interest  and  value  of  litera- 
ture are  largely  dependent  upon  the  manner  or  form  in 
which  the  facts  are  presented.  In  its  restricted  sense, 
literature  includes  only  those  works  that  are  polished  or 
artistic  in  form.  The  classic  works  of  a  literature  are 
those  which  present  ideas  of  general  and  permanent  in- 
terest in  a  highly  finished  or  artistic  manner. 

Literature  is  influenced  or  determined  by  whatever  af- 
fects the  thought  and  feeling  of  a  people.  Among  the 
most  potent  influences  that  determine  the  character  of 
a  literature,  whether  taken  in  a  broad  or  in  a  restricted 
sense,  are  race,  epoch,  and  surroundings.  This  fact  should 
be  well  borne  in  mind,  for  it  renders  a  philosophy  of  litera- 
ture possible.  We  cannot  fully  understand  any  literature, 

1  The  Seasons.     Summer,  line  81. 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

nor  justly  estimate  it,  without  an  acquaintance  with  the 
national  traits  of  the  writers,  the  general  character  of  the 
age  in  which  they  lived,  and  the  physical  and  social  con- 
ditions by  which  they  were  surrounded.  This  fact  shows 
the  intimate  relation  between  literature  and  history. 

It  has  been  questioned  whether  we  have  an  American 
literature.  But  there  is  no  reasonable  ground  for  doubt. 
A  fair  survey  of  the  facts  will  show  that  the  literature  of 
this  country  is  distinctive  in  its  thought  and  feeling.  Our 
best  works  are  not  an  echo  of  the  literature  of  England, 
but  a  new  and  valuable  contribution  to  the  literature  of 
the  world.  The  best  of  Irving's  writings,  the  tales  of 
Hawthorne,  the  "  Evangeline  "  and  "  Hiawatha"  of  Long- 
fellow, not  to  mention  many  others,  are  filled  with  Amer- 
ican scenery,  American  thought,  and  American  character. 
"/  During  the  first  two  centuries  of  our  history,  while 
Shakespeare,  Bacon,  Milton,  Dryden,  Pope,  Addison,  John- 
son, and  Goldsmith  were  adding  lustre  to  English  letters, 
our  country  produced  but  few  works  that  deserve  a  place 
in  classic  literature.  It  could  hardly  have  been  otherwise. 
Our  people  were  devoting  their  energies  chiefly  to  the 
great  task  of  subduing  a  wild  continent,  building  towns 
and  cities,  producing  mechanical  inventions,  conquering 
political  independence,  and  establishing  a  social  order 
based  on  the  principle  of  human  equality  and  human  free- 
dom. These  achievements  are  no  less  important  than 
the  production  of  an  elegant  literature,  and  really  form 
the  basis  upon  which  the  arts  and  sciences  naturally  rest. 
Material  prosperity  and  political  independence  bring  the 
leisure  and  culture  that  foster  letters.  It  was  so  in  the 
age  of  Pericles,  of  Augustus,  of  Elizabeth,  and  of  Louis 
XIV. 


4  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  literature  of  America  is  the  youngest  of  national 
literatures.  While  we  must  seek  its  beginnings  in  the 
early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  it  is  scarcely  more 
than  two  generations  ago'  that  our  literature  entered  upon 
a  vigorous  development.  Though  there  are  two  great 
names  in  the  last  century,  —  those  of  Franklin  and  Ed- 
wards, —  our  polite  literature-  really  begins  with  Irving, 
Bryant,  and  Cooper,  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  present 
century.  This  is  a  recent  date  in  comparison  with  the 
literature  of  the  leading  nations  of  Europe.  ^ 
)Q  The  literary  history  of  England  extends  through  no 
fewer  than  twelve  centuries  ;  and  already  five  hundred 
years  ago  it  had  produced  in  Chaucer  one  of  the  world's 
great  writers.  The  literary  history  of  France  covers  an 
equally  extended  period ;  and  already  in  the  Middle  Ages 
it  counted  several  famous  epics.  In  Germany  the  great 
"  Nibelungen  Lied  "  was  composed  in  the  twelfth  century. 
While  it  is  true  that  we  are  "  heirs  of  all  the  ages,"  and 
as  such  have  inherited  the  literary  treasures  of  the  past, 
the  growth  of  our  literature  has  been  too  short  to  realize 
the  fulness  of  power  that  will  come  with  greater  maturity 
of  age. 

Within  the  present  century,  American  literature  has 
had  a  remarkable  development.  In  various  departments 
—  history,  criticism,  poetry  —  it  has  fairly  vied  with  that 
of  the  mother  country.  Yet  our  highest  literary  achieve- 
ments probably  lie  in  the  future.  With  a  territory  capa- 
ble of  supporting  a  population  of  five  hundred  millions,  the 
task  of  the  American  people  is  not  yet  half  accomplished. 
Material  interests  and  social  problems  will  continue,  it 
may  be  for  a  long  time,  to  absorb  a  large  part  of  the  best 
talent  of  our  land.  We  are  at  present  living  our  epic 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

poem,  —  the  greatest  the  world  has  seen.  But  after  this 
period  of  ardent  striving  and  conflict  is  past,  our  golden 
age  will  come ;  and,  having  time  to  listen,  we  shall,  per- 
haps, encourage  some  Homer  or  Milton  to  sing. 

No  other  country  seems  to  present  more  favorable 
conditions  for  the  development  of  a  great  literature.  The 
most  interesting  factor  in  literature  is  the  human  element, 
—  the  presentation  of  the  thoughts,  emotions,  and  experi- 
ences of  men.  As  literature  naturally  reflects  national  life, 
the  nature  of  this  element  depends  upon  the  culture  and 
experience  of  the  people.  Nowhere  else  has  life  been 
more  varied  and  more  intense  than  in  America ;  and  no- 
where else,  in  the  years  to  come,  will  it  afford  richer  and 
more  picturesque  materials. 

American  literature  is  an  offshoot  of  English  litera- 
ture, and  shares  the  life  of  the  parent  stock. '"  It  uses  the 
same  language  ;  and  its  earliest  writers  were  colonists  who 
had  received  their  education  in  England.  The  culture  of 
this  country  is  distinctively  English  in  origin  and  char- 
acter ;  the  differences  are  but  modifications  growing  out 
of  the  new  environment.  We  owe  our  laws  and  our  reli- 
gion chiefly  to  England  ;  and  the  political  independence 
achieved  through  the  Revolution  did  not  withdraw  us  from 
the  humanizing  influence  of  English  letters. 

In  recent  years,  through  the  importation  of  French, 
German,  and  Russian  books,  our  literary  culture,  as  in 
other  progressive  countries,  has  become  more  cosmopolitan 
in  character.  But  before  that  time,  our  reading  was  con- 
fined almost  exclusively  to  English  authors.  The  great 
English  classics,  from  Chaucer  down,  we  justly  claim  as 
our  natural  heritage.  The  leading  movements  in  the  lit- 
erary history  of  England  have  been  reflected  in  America. 


6  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

In  many  cases  a  similarity  of  thought  and  style  may 
be  traced,  as  between  Goldsmith  and  Irving,  Scott  and 
Cooper,  Carlyle  and  Emerson.  But  this  resemblance  has 
not  risen  from  feeble  or  conscious  imitation ;  it  has  not 
interfered  with  the  individuality  of  our  authors,  nor  im- 
paired the  excellence  of  their  works. 

The  literary  history  of  our  country  may  be  divided  into 
several  periods,  the  general  character  of  which  is  more  or 
less  sharply  denned,  though  their  limits  naturally  shade 
into  one  another  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees.  The 
first  period,  which  includes  nearly  the  whole  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  may  be  called  the  First  Colonial  Period. 
The  principal  productions  of  this  period  represent,  not 
American,  but  English,  culture,  and  are  concerned  chiefly 
with  a  description  of  the  New  World,  with  the  story  of 
its  colonization,  or  with  a  discussion  of  the  theological 
questions  that  grew  out  of  the  great  Protestant  Reforma- 
tion in  Europe.  The  next  period,  beginning  with  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  and  extending  to  the  Revolution,  may  be 
known  as  the  Second  Colonial  Period.  In  the  literature 
of  this  period,  American  life  is  reflected  more  fully,  and 
two  writers,  Franklin  and  Edwards,  stand  out  with  great 
prominence.  Then  follows  what  we  may  designate  the 
Revolutionary  Period,  extending  from  the  Revolution  to 
the  War  of  1812.  The  dominant  influence  in  this  period 
was  the  establishment  of  a  new  and  independent  govern- 
ment. Here  belong  the  names  of  Washington,  Jefferson, 
Hamilton,  Madison,  and  Jay.  This  was  followed  by  an 
era  of  literary  bloom,  which  may  be  characterized  as  the 
First  National  Period.  It  covers  the  time  lying  between 
the  War  of  1812  and  the  Civil  War,  and  furnishes  the  be- 
ginning of  what  is  called  polite  literature,  or  belles-lettres,  in 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

this  country.  To  this  period  belong  the  greatest  names  of 
our  literary  history,  —  Irving,  Cooper,  Bryant,  Hawthorne, 
Longfellow,  and  others.  Lastly,  we  have  the  present  pe- 
riod, which  for  convenience  may  be  called  the  Second  Na- 
tional Period.  It  begins  with  the  Civil  War,  and  exhibits 
a  broad  cosmopolitan  tendency.  Though  it  has  produced 
but  few  writers  of  pre-eminent  ability,  it  is  characterized 
by  unexampled  literary  activity,  and  by  great  excellence  of 
literary  form. 


FIRST  COLONIAL    PERIOD. 


REPRESENTATIVE    WRITERS. 

JOHN  SMITH.      COTTON  MATHER. 

(See  sketches  at  the  close  of  this  section.} 

OTHER    WRITERS. 

WILLIAM  STRACHEY,  born  1585;  secretary  of  the  Virginia  Colony  1610- 
1612.  Wrote  "  Wracke  and  Redemption  of  Sir  Thomas  Gates,"  and 
"  Historie  of  Travaile  into  Virginia." 

GEORGE  SANDYS  (1577— 1644).  Removed  to  America  in  1621,  and  became 
treasurer  of  the  Virginia  Colony.  Translated  in  Virginia  ten  books  of 
Ovid's  "  Metamorphoses." 

WILLIAM  BRADFORD  (1588-1657).  One  of  the  Mayflower  colonists,  gov- 
ernor of  Plymouth  for  many  years.  "  History  of  Plymouth  Colony  " 
from  1620  to  1647. 

JOHN  WINTHROP  (1588-1649).  Came  to  Massachusetts  in  1630,  and  was- 
governor  for  many  years.  "History  of  New  England"  from  1630 
to  1649. 

JOHN  COTTON  (1585-1652).  Educated  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
Migrated  to  Boston  in  1633,  and  became  pastor  of  the  First  Church. 
A  distinguished  preacher.  "  Singing  of  Psalms  a  Gospel  Ordinance." 

EDWARD  JOHNSON  (1599-1672).  Came  to  New  England  in  1630.  Was 
a  representative  in  the  General  Court  or  legislature  of  Massachusetts 
for  several  terms.  "  Wonder-working  Providence  of  Zion's  Saviour  in 
New  England." 

JOHN  ELIOT  (1604-1690).  Graduated  at  Cambridge  in  1623,  and  came 
to  Boston  in  1631.  "The  Apostle  to  the  Indians,"  into  whose  lan- 
guage he  translated  the  Bible.  In  1660  he  published  in  England, 
"  The  Christian  Commonwealth ;  or,  The  Civil  Policy  of  the  Rising 
Kingdom  of  Jesus  Christ." 

9 


10  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ANNE  BRADSTREET  (1612-1672).  Wife  of  Governor  Bradstreet.  The 
earliest  writer  of  verse  in  America.  Her  first  volume  was  published 
in  England  under  the  title,  "  The  Tenth  Muse  Lately  Sprung  up  in 
America." 

INCREASE  MATHER  (1638-1723).  Graduated  at  Harvard  in  1656;  took 
his  M.A.  degree  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  Pastor  of  Second  Church 
in  Boston;  for  six  years  (1685-1701)  president  of  Harvard  College. 
His  publications  number  one  hundred  and  sixty. 


I. 

FIRST  COLONIAL   PERIOD. 
(1607-1689.) 

GENERAL  SURVEY.  —  The  English  were  slow  in  estab- 
lishing colonies  in  the  New  World.  While  Spain  was 
subduing  Mexico  and  a  large  part  of  South  America,  they 
remained  comparatively  inactive.  The  French  were  ahead 
of  them  in  Canada.  But  when  at  last  the  English  under- 
took the  work  of  colonization,  the  Anglo-Saxon  vigor  as- 
serted its  superiority,  and  took  possession  of  the  fairest 
part  of  the  American  continent.  From  insignificant  and 
unpromising  beginnings,  the  English  colonies  rapidly  de- 
veloped into  a  great  nation,  rivalling  the  mother  country 
not  only  in  commercial  interests,  but  also  in  science  and 
literature. 

The  English  occupation  of  this  country  began  early  in 
the  seventeenth  century  with  the  establishment  of  two 
colonies,  which  were  as  different  in  character  as  they  were 
widely  removed  from  each  other  in  space.  The  first  of 
these  colonies  was  founded  in  1607  at  Jamestown  in  Vir- 
ginia ;  the  other  in  1 620  at  Plymouth  in  New  England. 
Both  settlements,  in  their  subsequent  development,  were 
destined  to  play  an  important  part  in  the  political  and  lit- 
erary history  of  our  country.  In  a  measure  they  repre- 
sented two  different  tendencies  in  politics  and  religion  : 
the  Virginia  colonists  upholding  the  Church  of  England 


12  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

and  standing  by  the  king ;  the  New  England  colonists  fa- 
voring a  change  in  the  English  Church,  and  adhering  to 
the  Parliament.  The  one  was  thus  conservative,  the  other 
progressive,  —  characteristics  that  are  perceptible  at  the 
present  day. 

Virginia.  —  It  is  beyond  the  scope  of  the  present  work 
to  follow  in  detail  the  various  trials  and  vicissitudes  of  the 
young  settlement  at  Jamestown.  The  story  is  well  known. 
Nearly  the  whole  century  was  consumed  in  getting  the 
colony  firmly  on  its  feet.  For  a  time  disease  carried  off 
a  large  number  of  the  colonists  and  discouraged  the  rest. 
The  Indians  frequently  became  unfriendly,  and  made  re- 
peated attempts  to  massacre  the  colonists.  Many  of  the 
governors  were  incompetent  and  selfish ;  and  the  energies 
of  the  people  were  at  times  wasted  by  dissension  and 
strife.  One  man  alone,  during  this  early  period,  was  able 
to  plan  and  execute  wisely ;  and  that  was  Captain  John 
Smith. 

At  various  times  during  the  century  the  colony  re- 
ceived new  accessions  of  immigrants.  After  the  Civil 
War  in  England,  and  the  establishment  of  the  Protector- 
ate under  Cromwell,  many  of  the  Royalists,  adherents  of 
Charles  I.,  sought  a  home  in  the  New  World,  and  gave 
a  distinct  Cavalier  tone  to  Virginia  society.  The  man- 
ners of  the  mother  country  were  in  a  measure  reproduced. 
"  The  Virginia  planter  was  essentially  a  transplanted  Eng- 
lishman in  tastes  and  convictions,  and  emulated  the  social 
amenities  and  the  culture  of  the  mother  country.  Thus 
in  time  was  formed  a  society  distinguished  for  its  refine- 
ment, executive  ability,  and  generous  hospitality,  for  which 
the  Ancient  Dominion  is  proverbial."1 

1  Winsor,  Narrative  and  Critical  History  of  America,  Vol.  III.,  p.  153. 


FIRST  COLONIAL   PERIOD.  13 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  the  conditions  in  Vir- 
ginia during  this  period  were  not  favorable  to  the  produc- 
tion of  literature.  For  the  greater  part  of  the  first  century, 
after  the  planting  of  the  colony,  the  energies  of  the  people 
were  almost  entirely  absorbed  in  the  difficult  work  of  es- 
tablishing for  themselves  a  permanent  home.  This  task 
included  not  only  the  building  of  houses  and  the  clearing 
of  farms,  but  also  the  subduing  of  hostile  and  treacherous 
tribes  of  Indians.  Under  the  stress  of  this  toilsome  and 
dangerous  life,  there  could  be  but  little  leisure  for  the 
cultivation  of  literature  as  an  art.  The  writings  of  the 
time  were,  for  the  most  part,  of  a  practical  nature,  designed 
either  to  preserve  the  history  of  the  planting  of  the  young 
nation,  or  to  acquaint  the  people  of  the  mother  country 
with  the  wonders  of  the  New  World. 

In  addition  to  these  unfavorable  surroundings,  it  can 
hardly  be  claimed  that  the  social  conditions  in  Virginia, 
during  the  period  under  consideration,  were  likely  to  foster 
literary  taste  and  literary  production.  The  colonists,  de- 
voted to  tobacco-planting  and  agriculture,  settled  on  large 
plantations.  There  were  no  towns  ;  and  even  Jamestown, 
the  capital,  had  at  the  close  of  the  century  only  a  state- 
house,  one  church,  and  eighteen  private  dwellings.  But 
little  attention  was  paid  to  education.  There  is  scarcely 
any  mention  of  schools  before  1688;  and  learning  fell 
into  such  general  neglect  that  Governor  Spottswood  in 
1715  reproached  the  colonial  assembly  for  having  fur- 
nished two  of  its  standing  committees  with  chairmen  who 
could  not  "  spell  English  or  write  common  sense."  There 
was  no  printing-press  in  Virginia  before  1681  ;  and  the 
printer  was  required  to  give  bond  not  to  print  anything 
"  until  his  Majesty's  pleasure  shall  be  known."  For 


14  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

nearly  forty  years  of  this  period,  from  1641  to  1677,  Sir 
William  Berkeley  exerted  his  influence  and  power  "  in  fa- 
vor of  the  fine  old  conservative  policy  of  keeping  subjects 
ignorant  in  order  to  keep  them  submissive." l  When 
questioned  in  1670  about  the  condition  of  Virginia,  he 
said  :  "  I  thank  God  there  are  no  free  schools  nor  print- 
ing ;  and  I  hope  we  shall  not  have,  these  hundred  years ; 
for  learning  has  brought  disobedience,  and  heresy,  and 
sects  into  the  world,  and  printing  has  divulged  them,  and 
libels  against  the  best  government.  God  keep  us  from 
both."  2  Surely  under  these  circumstances  there  was  but 
little  encouragement  to  literature. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  period  before  us,  a  growing 
interest  in  higher  education  resulted,  in  1692,  in  the 
founding  of  the  College  of  William  and  Mary,  the  oldest 
institution  of  learning  in  the  South,  and,  after  Harvard, 
the  oldest  in  the  United  States.  It  received  a  cordial 
support  not  only  in  Virginia,  but  also  in  England.  The 
lieutenant-governor  headed  the  subscription  list  with  a 
generous  gift,  and  his  example  was  followed  by  other 
prominent  members  of  the  colony.  After  the  sum  of 
twenty-five  hundred  pounds  had  thus  been  raised,  the  Rev. 
James  Blair  was  sent  to  England  to  solicit  a  charter  for 
the  institution.  This  was  readily  granted  ;  and  as  a  fur- 
ther evidence  of  the  royal  favor,  the  quit-rents  yet  due 
in  the  colony,  amounting  to  nearly  two  thousand  pounds, 
were  turned  over  to  the  college.  For  its  further  support, 
twenty  thousand  acres  of  land  were  set  apart  for  its  use, 
and  a  tax  of  a  penny  a  pound  was  laid  on  all  tobacco  ex- 
ported from  Virginia  and  Maryland  to  other  American 

1  Tyler,  History  of  American  Literature,  p.  89. 

2  Campbell,  History  of  Virginia,  p.  273. 


FIRST  COLONIAL   PERIOD.  15 

colonies.  The  college  was  located  at  Williamsburg ;  and 
the  Rev.  James  Blair,  who  had  been  active  in  securing  its 
establishment,  was  chosen  as  its  first  president.  In  the 
language  of  the  charter,  the  college  was  founded  "to  the 
end  that  the  Church  of  Virginia  may  be  furnished  with  a 
seminary  of  ministers  of  the  Gospel,  and  that  the  youth 
may  be  piously  educated  in  good  letters  and  manners,  and 
that  Christian  faith  may  be  propagated  among  the  western 
Indians  to  the  glory  of  God."  The  founding  of  this  col- 
lege, though  without  influence  upon  literature  during  the 
First  Colonial  Period,  supplied  in  the  next  century  a  num- 
ber of  men  who  became  illustrious  in  the  political  and 
literary  history  of  their  country. 

New  England.  —  Thirteen  years  after  the  founding  of 
Jamestown,  the  Mayflower,  with  one  hundred  and  two 
colonists,  landed  at  Plymouth.  They  were  Puritans,  who 
for  the  sake  of  conscience  first  exiled  themselves  in  Hol- 
land ;  and  there  considering  that  their  nationality  would 
finally  be  lost  among  the  hospitable  Dutch,  they  heroi- 
cally resolved  to  migrate  to  the  New  World.  They  recog- 
nized the  difficulties  of  the  undertaking ;  but,  as  one  of 
their  number  tells  us,  it  was  replied  that  "  all  great  and 
honorable  actions  are  accompanied  with  great  difficulties, 
and  must  be  both  enterprised  and  overcome  with  answer- 
able courages." 

Religion  was  a  dominant  factor  in  the  character  of  the 
Puritans.  In  coming  to  America,  they  sought  a  refuge 
where,  to  use  their  own  language,  they  "  might  glorify 
God,  do  more  good  to  their  country,  better  provide  for 
their  posterity,  and  live  to  be  more  refreshed  by  their 
labors."  They  were  thorough-going  Protestants  ;  but  in 
their  adherence  to  Scripture  they  fell  into  Hebrew  rigor. 


1 6  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

They  not  only  abstained  from  all  forms  of  immorality, 
but  they  discountenanced  innocent  pleasures. 

Notwithstanding  the  difficulties  which  attended  their 
settlement,  —  the  rigor  of  the  climate,  the  hostility  of  the 
Indians,  and  the  interference  of  foes  abroad,  —  the  Puri- 
tan colony  rapidly  grew  in  numbers  and  influence.  The 
despotism  of  Charles  I.  and  the  persecution  instigated  by 
Archbishop  Laud  drove  some  of  the  best  people  of  Eng- 
land to  seek  religious  and  political  freedom  in  the  colony 
of  Massachusetts.  By  the  year  1640  the  colony  numbered 
more  than  twenty  thousand  persons,  distributed  in  about 
fifty  towns  and  villages.  Tyranny  had  made  them  friends 
of  constitutional  government. 

In  spite  of  superstition  and  religious  intolerance,  — 
evils  belonging  to  the  age,  —  New  England  was  from  the 
start  the  friend  of  popular  intelligence  and  social  prog- 
ress. The  printing-press  was  introduced  in  1 639 ;  and 
though  it  was  kept  under  close  supervision,  it  was  not 
allowed  to  remain  entirely  inactive.  The  Puritans  deserve 
the  credit  of  being  the  first  community  in  Christendom 
to  make  ample  provision  for  the-  instruction  of  the  people. 
"  In  the  laws  establishing  common  schools,  lies  the  secret 
of  the  success  and  character  of  New  England.  Every 
child,  as  it  was  born  into  the  world,  was  lifted  from  the 
earth  by  the  genius  of  the  country,  and,  in  the  statutes 
of  the  land,  received,  as  its  birthright,  a  pledge  of  the 
public  care  for  its  morals  and  its  mind."  1 

In  order  that  the  Scriptures  might  be  properly  under- 
stood, and  that  learning  might  not  be  buried  in  the  grave 
of  their  fathers,  as  the  Act  of  the  General  Court  stated, 
it  was  ordered  in  1647  m  a^  the  Puritan  colonies,  "that 

l  Bancroft,  History  of  the  United  States,  Vol.  I.,  p.  459. 


FIRST  COLONIAL   PERIOD.  I/ 

every  township,  after  the  Lord  hath  increased  them  to 
fifty  householders,  shall  appoint  one  to  teach  all  children 
to  write  and  read ;  and  when  any  town  shall  increase  to 
the  number  of  one  hundred  families,  they  shall  set  up  a 
grammar  school ;  the  masters  thereof  being  able  to  instruct 
youth  so  far  as  they  may  be  fitted  for  the  university." 

Harvard  College,  the  oldest  institution  of  learning  in 
the  United  States,  was  founded  in  1636.  In  that  year 
the  Massachusetts  assembly  "  agreed  to  give  four  hundred 
pounds  towards  a  school  or  college."  This  appropriation 
was  equivalent  to  the  colony  tax  for  one  year,  and  from 
this  point  of  view  would  equal  at  the  present  time  several 
millions  of  dollars.  Newtown,  which  was  afterwards 
changed  to  Cambridge  in  memory  of  the  English  univer- 
sity town,  was  chosen  as  the  site  of  the  new  college. 
When  John  Harvard,  who  died  shortly  after  the  founding 
of  the  college,  bequeathed  to  it  his  library  and  one-half 
of  his  estate,  his  name  was  associated  with  the  institution, 
which  was  destined  to  exert  an  untold  influence  upon  the 
literary  history  of  our  country. 

We  can  now  understand  the  literary  pre-eminence  of 
New  England.  From  the  first  it  was  colonized  by  an 
earnest  body  of  men  of  unusual  intelligence.  They  lived 
together  in  towns,  where  perpetual  contact  sharpened 
their  wits,  and  kept  them  in  sympathy  with  subjects  of 
common  interest.  Their  attitude  to  religion  led  them  to 
theological  discussion.  With  some  conception  at  least  of 
the  magnitude  and  far-reaching  results  of  their  undertak- 
ing, they  minutely  noted  the  facts  of  their  experience,  and 
sought  to  build  a  solid  political  structure.  The  tasks  im- 
posed upon  them,  as  well  as  their  novel  and  picturesque 
surroundings,  stimulated  their  minds  to  the  highest  ac- 


1 8  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

tivity.  From  their  surroundings  and  character  we  would 
not  expect  artistic  form.  They  hardly  thought  of  litera- 
ture as  a  fine  art.  But  in  their  literature  we  find  a  manly 
strength  and  intense  earnestness  of  purpose. 

The  seventeenth  century  produced  a  large  number  of 
writers  in  New  England.  Most  of  their  works,  however, 
are  of  interest  now  only  to  the  antiquarian  or  specialist. 
No  masterpiece  of  literature,  such  as  the  Puritan  Milton 
produced  in  England,  appeared  to  adorn  American  letters. 
The  first  book  printed  was  the  "  Bay  Psalm  Book,"  a  rude 
rendering  of  the  Hebrew.  As  the  preface  informs  us, 
"  It  hath  been  one  part  of  our  religious  care  and  faithful 
endeavor  to  keep  close  to  the  original  text.  If,  therefore, 
the  verses  are  not  always  so  smooth  and  elegant  as  some 
may  desire  or  expect,  .  .  .  we  have  respected  rather  a 
plain  translation  than  to  smooth  our  verses  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  any  paraphrase ;  and  so  have  attended  conscience 
rather  than  elegance,  fidelity  rather  than  poetry."  After 
this  introduction  we  are  not  much  surprised  to  read  the 
following  version  of  Psalm  XIX.  :  — 

"  The  heavens  doe  declare 

the  majesty  of  God: 
also  the  firmament  shews  forth 

his  handywork  abroad. 
Day  speaks  to  day,  knowledge 

night  hath  to  night  declar'd. 
There  neither  speach  nor  language  is, 

where  their  voyce  is  not  heard. 
Through  all  the  earth  their  line 

is  gone  forth,  &  unto 
the  utmost  end  of  all  the  world, 

their  speaches  reach  also : 
A  Tabernacle  hee 

in  them  pitcht  for  the  Sun, 


FIRST  COLONIAL   PERIOD.  1 9 

Who  Bridegroom  like  from's  chamber  goes 

glad  Giants-race  to  run. 
From  heavens  utmost  end, 

his  course  and  compassing ; 
to  ends  of  it,  &  from  the  heat 

thereof  is  hid  nothing." 


2O  AMERICA  Ar  LITERATURE. 


CAPTAIN  JOHN   SMITH. 

DURING  the  early  colonial  period,  the  first  writer  in  time, 
as,  perhaps,  in  prominence,  is  Captain  John  Smith  of  Virginia. 
His  personal  history,  which  he  has  himself  related  in  full,  reads 
like  a  romance.  Indeed,  so  interesting  and  remarkable  are  the 
incidents  of  his  life,  as  given  in  his  several  volumes,  that  it 
is  impossible  to  escape  the  suspicion  that  he  has  freely  sup- 
plemented and  embellished  the  facts  from  the  resources  of 
his  ample  imagination. 

Yet,  after  all  due  abatement  is  made,  the  fact  remains  in- 
contestable, that  his  career  presented  striking  vicissitudes  of 
fortune,  and  that  in  the  midst  of  trials  and  dangers  he  showed 
himself  fertile  in  resources,  and  dauntless  in  courage.  In  more 
than  one  emergency,  the  colony  at  Jamestown  owed  its  preser- 
vation to  his  sagacity  and  courage ;  and  though  from  the  begin- 
ning his  superior  abilities  made  him  an  object  of  envy,  he  had 
the  magnanimity  to  extinguish  resentment,  and  the  unselfish- 
ness to  labor  for  the  good  of  his  enemies. 

John  Smith  was  born  in  Lincolnshire,  England,  in  1580, 
the  son  of  a  well-to-do  farmer.  He  received  a  moderate  edu- 
cation in  the  schools  of  Alford  and  Louth.  His  parents  died 
when  he  was  a  lad  of  fifteen  ;  and  though  they  left  him  a  com- 
fortable fortune,  he  was  not  content  quietly  to  enjoy  it.  His 
youthful  heart  was  set  on  adventures  abroad  ;  and  only  his 
father's  death  prevented  his  running  away  from  home  and 
going  to  sea.  He  was  afterwards  bound  as  an  apprentice  to 
Thomas  Sendall,  a  prominent  merchant  of  Lynn  ;  but  his  rest- 
less disposition  could  not  be  satisfied  with  the  unromantic 
duties  of  a  counting-house,  and  hence  he  made  his  escape  to 
give  himself  ta  a  life  of  travel  and  adventure. 


(~Tlu>fe  are -die Lin&S  that  Jhtw  t/y  Tace,  t 
IThat  ftiew  tfiy  &r&C£  and  Glory,  brighter  bet 
'T'liv  Fairc-Dil^ntfries  and  f*owU,-Overthrowes 

Of  Salvaqes.muth  Cn'iflit'J  ty 

-7j<J//   iJii'iv  th\'  Spirit  and  to  it,    G 

^  •  rf          t 

&4tft0u  ort SToJtt  wimovt~*ntt  <r 


CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH.  21 

The  next  few  years  witnessed  an  astonishing  amount  of 
roving  adventure.  We  find  him  in  turn  in  Europe,  Asia,  and 
Africa,  and  everywhere  encountering  dangers  and  making  mar- 
vellous escapes.  He  read  military  science,  and  disciplined 
himself  to  the  use  of  arms.  He  served  under  Henry  IV.  of 
France,  and  then  assisted  the  Dutch  in  their  struggle  against 
Philip  II.  of  Spain.  Afterwards,  to  use  his  own  words,  "He 
was  desirous  to  see  more  of  the  world,  and  try  his  fortune 
against  the  Turks,  both  lamenting  and  repenting  to  have  seen 
so  many  Christians  slaughter  one  another." 

Taking  ship  at  Marseilles  with  a  company  of  pilgrims 
going  to  Rome,  he  was  angrily  reproached  for  his  Protestant 
heresy;  and  when  a  storm  was  encountered,  his  violent  and 
superstitious  fellow-travellers  cast  him,  like  another  Jonah,  into 
the  sea.  His  good  fortune  did  not  desert  him  in  this  emer- 
gency. He  succeeded  in  reaching  a  small,  uninhabited  island, 
from  which  he  was  shortly  rescued  and  taken  to  Egypt.  After 
other  vicissitudes,  including  the  capture  of  a  rich  Venetian 
argosy,  he  finally  reached  Vienna,  and  enlisted  under  the 
Emperor  Rudolph  II.  against  the  Turks. 

In  the  campaigns  that  followed,  he  won  the  confidence  of 
his  commanders.  At  Regal,  in  Transylvania,  he  distinguished 
himself  in  the  presence  of  two  armies  by  slaying  in  succession, 
in  single  combat,  three  Turkish  champions.  For  this  deed  of 
prowess  he  received  a  patent  of  nobility,  and  a  pension  of  three 
hundred  ducats  a  year.  Afterwards  he  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  wounded  in  battle,  and  was  captured  by  the  Turks.  Hav- 
ing been  sold  as  a  slave,  he  was  taken  to  Constantinople, 
where  he  touched  the  heart  of  his  mistress  by  relating  to  her, 
like  another  Othello,  the  whole  story  of  his  adventures.  Sub- 
sequently, after  spending  some  time  in  Tartary,  he  made  his 
escape  through  Russia,  and  at  length  returned  to  England  in 
1604.  But  his  spirit  of  adventure  was  not  yet  satiated,  and  he 
at  once  threw  himself  into  the  schemes  of  colonization  that 
were  then  engaging  attention.  He  was  one  of  the  founders 
of  the  London  Company. 


22  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  landing  of  the  colony  at  Jamestown  and  their  early 
difficulties  and  trials  have  already  been  spoken  of.  In  the 
language  of  Smith,  "There  were  never  Englishmen  left  in  a 
foreign  country  in  such  misery  as  we  were  in  this  new  discov- 
ered Virginia.  We  watched  every  three  nights,  lying  on  the 
bare  cold  ground,  what  weather  soever  came,  and  warded  all  the 
next  day,  which  brought  our  men  to  be  most  feeble  wretches. 
Our  food  was  but  a  small  can  of  barley  sodden  in  water  to 
five  men  a  day.  Our  drink,  cold  watej  taken  out  of  the  river, 
which  was,  at  a  flood,  very  salt,  at  a  low  tide,  full  of  slime  and 
filth,  which  was  the  destruction  of  many  of  our  men."  In  less 
than  six  months,  more  than  one-half  of  the  colony  had  per- 
ished. 

Smith  encouraged  the  disheartened  colonists,  and  wisely 
directed  their  labors,  always  bearing  the  heaviest  part  himself. 
Houses  were  built,  and  the  land  was  tilled;  and  as  often  as 
supplies  of  food  were  needed,  he  succeeded  in  begging  or 
bullying  the  Indians  into  furnishing  what  was  needed.  As 
opportunity  presented  itself,  he  diligently  explored  the  country. 
It  was  on  an  expedition  of  discovery  up  the  Chickahominy  that 
he  fell  into  the  hands  of  Powhatan  ;  and  in  spite  of  his  fertility 
in  resources,  he  escaped  death  only  through  the  well-known 
intercession  and  protection  of  the  noble-minded  Pocahontas. 

In  recent  years  the  truth  of  this  story  has  been  questioned ; 
but  an  examination  of  the  evidence  hardly  warrants  us  in  pro- 
nouncing "the  Pocahontas  myth  demolished."  Until  a  stronger 
array  of  facts  can  be  adduced,  it  must  still  stand  as  the  most 
beautiful  and  most  romantic  incident  connected  with  the  found- 
ing of  the  American  colonies. 

While  Smith  had  the  direction  of  the  colony  as  president, 
it  prospered.  The  Indians  were  kept  in  subjection,  and  the 
colonists  were  wisely  directed  in  their  labors.  But  in  1609  a 
change  took  place.  Five  hundred  new  colonists  arrived,  and 
refused  to  acknowledge  his  authority.  They  robbed  the  In- 
dians, and  plotted  the  murder  of  Smith.  While  dangers  were 
thus  gathering,  an  accident  changed  the  course  of  events.  As 


CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH.  "23 

Smith  lay  sleeping  in  his  boat,  the  powder  bag  at  his  side 
exploded,  and  frightfully  burned  his  body.  In  his  agony  he 
leaped  overboard,  and  narrowly  escaped  drowning.  In  his 
disabled  condition  and  need  of  medical  aid,  he  returned  to 
England  in  October,'  1609,  and  never  visited  Virginia  again. 
His  absence  was  sorely  felt.  The  colonists  soon  fell  into 
great  disorder  and  distress.  "  The  starving  time  "  came  on  ; 
and  in  five  months  death  reduced  the  number  of  colonists  from 
four  hundred  and  ninety  to  sixty. 

Two  of  the  survivors  of  "  the  starving  time  "  have  left  a 
noble  estimate  of  the  character  of  Smith  :  "  What  shall  I  say  ? 
but  thus  we  lost  him  that  in  all  his  proceedings  made  justice 
his  first  guide  and  experience  his  second ;  ever  hating  base- 
ness, sloth,  pride,  and  indignity  more  than  any  dangers  ;  that 
never  allowed  more  for  himself  than  his  soldiers  with  him  ; 
that  upon  no  danger  would  send  them  where  he  would  not  lead 
them  himself  ;  that  would  never  see  us  want  what  he  either 
had,  or  could  by  any  means  get  us  ;  that  would  rather  want 
than  borrow,  or  starve  and  not  pay;  that  loved  actions  more 
than  words,  and  hated  cozenage  and  falsehood  more  than 
death  ;  whose  adventures  were  our  lives,  and  whose  loss  our 
death." 

The  next  few  years  of  his  life,  from  1610  to  1617,  Smith 
spent  in  voyages  to  that  section  of  our  cotmtry  which  he 
named  New  England.  While  fishing  for  cod  and  bartering 
for  furs,  his  principal  object  was  to  explore  the  coast,  with  a 
view  to  establish  a  settlement.  He  explored  and  mapped  the 
country  from  the  Penobscot  to  Cape  Cod.  His  explorations 
in  this  region  earned  for  him  the  title  of  "  Admiral  of  New 
England."  On  his  last  expedition  he  was  captured  by  a 
French  pirate,  and  carried  prisoner  to  Rochelle.  But  soon 
effecting  his  escape,  he  made  his  way  back  to  England,  which 
he  seems  never  to  have  left  again.  The  last  years  of  his  life 
were  devoted  to  authorship.  Among  his  numerous  works  may 
be  mentioned  the  following  :  "A  True  Relation  "  (1608)  ;  "  A 
Description  of  New  England"  (1616) ;  "The  General  History 


24  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

of  Virginia"  (1624);  and  "The  True  Travels"  (1630).  He 
died  June  21,  1631,  and  was  buried  in  St.  Sepulchre's  Church, 
London. 

He  has  left  us  an  admirable  summary  of  his  remarkable 
life  :  "  Having  been  a  slave  to  the  Turks  ;  prisoner  among  the 
most  barbarous  savages  ;  after  my  deliverance  commonly  dis- 
covering and  ranging  those  large  rivers  and  unknown  nations 
with  such  a  handful  of  ignorant  companions  that  the  wiser  sort 
often  gave  me  up  for  lost ;  always  in  mutinies,  wants,  and  mis- 
eries; blown  up  with  gunpowder;  a  long  time  a  prisoner  among 
the  French  pirates,  from  whom  escaping  in  a  little  boat  by  my- 
self. .  .  .  And  many  a  score  of  the  worst  winter  months  have 
I  lived  in  the  fields  ;  yet  to  have  lived  thirty-seven  years  in  the 
midst  of  wars,  pestilences,  and  famine,  by  which  many  a  hun- 
dred thousand  have  died  about  me,  and  scarce  five  living  of 
them  that  went  first  with  me  to  Virginia,  and  yet  to  see  the 
fruits  of  my  labors  thus  well  begin  to  prosper  (though  I  have 
but  my  labor  for  my  pains),  have  I  not  much  reason,  both  pri- 
vately and  publicly,  to  acknowledge  it,  and  give  God  thanks  ?  " 

After  all  necessary  abatement  is  made  in  the  account  he 
has  given  of  his  life,  it  is  apparent  that  he  was  no  ordinary 
man.  He  was  great  in  word  and  deed.  His  voluminous  writ- 
ings are  characterized  by  clearness,  force,  and  dramatic  energy. 
His  intellect  was  cast  in  the  large  mould  of  the  era  to  which 
he  belonged.  He  was  a  man  of  broad  views.  As  a  leader  he 
displayed  courage  and  executive  ability ;  and  few  American 
explorers  have  shown  the  same  indomitable  energy.  Though 
restless,  ambitious,  and  vain,  he  was  noble  in  aim  and  gener- 
ous in  disposition.  During  the  first  quarter  of  the  seventeenth 
century  "  he  did  more  than  any  other  Englishman  to  make  an 
American  nation  and  an  American  literature  possible." 


COTTON  MATHER.  2$ 


COTTON  MATHER. 

AMONG  the  numerous  writers  of  the  first  colonial  era  in  New 
England,  Cotton  Mather  stands  as  a  kind  of  literary  behemoth./ 
In  literary  productiveness,  though  not  in  weighty  character,  he 
appears  in  the  literature  of  the  time  with  something  of  the 
hugeness  that  afterwards  distinguished  Samuel  Johnson  in 
England.  His  published  writings  reach  the  astonishing  num- 
ber of  three  hundred  and  eighty-three;  and  while  many  of 
them,  it  is  true,  are  only  pamphlets,  there  are  also  among  them 
bulky  volumes. 

He  was  the  third  of  a  line  of  distinguished  ancestors,  the 
relative  standing  of  whom  is  given  in  an  old  epitaph:  — 

"  Under  this  stone  lies  Richard  Mather, 
Who  had  a.  son  greater  than  his  father, 
And  eke  a  grandson  greater  than  either.'* 

This  grandson  was  of  course  Cotton  Mather,  who  was  born 
Feb.  12,  1663,  in  Boston.  On  the  side  of  his  mother,  who  was 
a  daughter  of*the  celebrated  pulpit-orator  John  Cotton,  he  like- 
wise inherited  talents  of  no  usual  order.  After  receiving  his 
preparatory  training  in  the  free  school  of  Boston,  he  entered 
Harvard  College,  at  the  age  of  twelve  years,  with  superior  at- 
tainments. During  his  collegiate  course  he  was  distinguished 
for  his  ability  and  scholarship ;  and  at  the  time  of  his  gradua- 
tion, the  president  of  the  college,  with  a  reference  to  his  double 
line  of  illustrious  ancestors,  said  in  a  Latin  oration :  "  I  trust 
that  in  this  youth  Cotton  and  Mather  will  be  united  and  flour- 
ish again." 

He  may  be  regarded  as  a  typical  product  of  the  Puritan  cul- 
his  time ;  and  with  this  fact  in  mind,  his  life  becomes 


26  AMERICAN  LITERA  TURE. 

doubly  interesting.     He  possessed  a  deeply  religious  nature, 

>2   which  asserted  itself  strongly  even  in  his  youth,  and  drove  him 

to  continual  introspection?   Troubled  with  doubts  and  fears 

about  his  salvation,  he  became  serious  in  manner,  and  spent 

much  time  in  prayer  and  fasting.     At  the  same  time  he  was 

active  in  doing  good,  instructing  his  brothers  and  sisters  at 

home,  and  fearlessly  reproving  his  companions  for  profanity 

\  or  immorality. 

After  leaving  college,  Cotton  Mather  spent  several  years  in 
leaching.  Hut  inheriting  two  great  ecclesiastical  names,  it 
was  but  natural  for  him  to  think  of  the  ministry.  Unfortu- 
nately, he  was  embarrassed  by  a  strongly  marked  impediment 
of  speech  ;  but  upon  the  advice  of  a  friend,  accustoming  him- 
self to  "dilated  deliberation^  in  public  speaking,  he  succeeded 
lV  in  overcoming  this  difficulty.  He  preached  his  first  sermon  at 
the  age  of  seventeen,  and  a  few  months  afterwards  was  called 
to  North  Church,  the  leading  congregation  in  Boston,  as  asso- 
ciate of  his  father.  His  preaching  was  well  received  —  a  fact 
about  which,  perhaps,  he  was  unduly  concerned.  With  his 
habit  of  dwelling  upon  his  inward  states  of  mind,  he  noted  in 
his  Diary  (to  which  we  are  much  indebted  for  an  insight  into 
his  subjective  life)  a  tendency  to  sinful  pride,  which  he  en- 
deavored to  suppress  by  the  doubtful  expedient  of  calling  him- 
self opprobrious  names.  * 

£~  His  method  of  sermonizing  and  preaching  is  well  worth 
noting.  It  was  the  age  of  heroic  sermons,  the  length  of  which 
was  counted,  not  by  minutes,  but  by  hours.  When  he  was  at  a 
loss  for  a  text,  "  he  would  make  a  prayer  to  the  Holy  Spirit  of 
Christ,  as  well  to  find  a  text  for  him  as  to  handle  it."  But  he 
was  far  from  a  lazy  reliance  upon  divine  aid.  He  carefully 
examined  his  text  in  the  original  language,  and  consulted  the 
commentaries  upon  it.  He  very  properly  chose  his  subjects, 
not  with  a  view  to  display  his  abilities,  but  to  edify  his  hearers. 
Unlike  his  father,  who  laboriously  committed  his  sermons  to 
memory,  he  made  use  of  extended  notes,  and  thus  gained  both 
the  finish  of  studied  discourse,  and  the  fervor  of  extemporane- 
ous speaking. 


COTTON  MATHER.  2/ 

(0  The  question  of  marriage  was  suggested,  not  by  the  draw- 
ing of  a  tender,  irresistible  passion,  but  by  calm,  rational  con- 
siderations of  utilityj7  Accordingly,  there  was  nothing  rashly 
precipitate  in  his  courtship ;  "  he  first  looked  up  to  heaven  for 
direction,  and  then  asked  counsel  of  his  friends."  The  person 
fixed  upon  at  last  as  his  future  companion  was  the  daughter  of 
Colonel  Philips  of  Charlestown,  to  whom  he  was  shortly  after- 
wards married.  "  She  was  a  comely,  ingenious  woman,  and  an 
agreeable  consort."  This  union,  as  also  his  second  marriage, 
was  a  happy  one  ;  but  it  is  a  suggestive  fact  that  his  third  wife 
is  referred  to  in  his  Diary  only  in  Latin.  She  made  his  life 
wretched ;  and  it  is  still  uncertain  whether  she  was  the  victim 
of  insanity  or  of  a  demoniac  ill-temper. 

From  childhood,  as  is  the  case  with  most  persons  of  ex- 
traordinary gifts,  he  was  conscious  of  his  superior  ability,  and 
expected  and  labored  to  be  a  great  man.  He  assiduously  em- 
ployed every  moment  of  time,  keeping  up  a  perpetual  tension 
of  exertion.  Over  the  door  of  his  library  he  wrote  in  capital 
letters  the  suggestive  legend,  "  BE  SHORT."  His  daily  life 
was  governed  by  a  mechanical  routine^  yet,  after  the  Puritanic 
fashion,  he  upbraided  himself  with  slothfulness. 
~7  He  mastered  not  only  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  which 
was  expected  of  every  scholar  of  the  time,  but  also  Spanish, 
French,  and  one  of  the  Indian  tongues,  in  most  of  which  he 
published  books.  He  had  the  marvellous  power,  possessed  by 
Spurgeon,  Gladstone,  and  Macaulay,  of  mastering  the  contents 
of  a  book  with  almost  incredible  rapidity.  According  to  the 
testimony  of  his  son,  "  He  would  ride  post  through  an  author"' 
He  had  the  largest  library  in  New  England  ;  and  its  contents 
were  so  at  command,  that  "  he  seemed  to  have  an  inexpres- 
sible source  of  divine  flame  and  vigor."  His  literary  activity 
was  extraordinary.  In  a  single  year,  besides  keeping  twenty 
fasts  and  discharging  all  the  duties  of  a  laborious  pastorate, 
he  published  fourteen  books.  It  is  not  strange  that  one  of  his 
contemporaries,  in  the  presence  of  this  extraordinary  activity, 
should  exclaim  :  — 

"Is  the  blest  Mather  necromancer  turned?" 


28  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Among  his  numerous  works,  there  is  one  that  stands  with 
monumental  pre-eminence  ;  it  is  the  "  Magnalia  Christi  Ameri- 
cana; or,  The  Ecclesiastical  History  of  New  England,"  from  its 
first  planting  in  the  year  1620  to  the  year  of  our  Lord  1698. 
It  may  justly  be  regarded  as  the  most  important  book  pro- 
duced in  America  during  the  seventeenth  century.  Its  scope 
will  appear  from  the  topics  treated  of  in  its  seven  books.  The 
first  book  gives  an  account  of  the  settlement  of  New  England  ; 
the  second  contains  "  the  lives  of  the  governors  and  the  names 
of  the  magistrates  that  have  been  shields  unto  the  churches  of 
New  England  ;  "  the  third  recounts  "  the  lives  of  sixty  famous 
divines,  by  whose  ministry  the  churches  of  New  England  have 
been  planted  and  continued  ;  "  the  fourth  is  devoted  to  the 
history  of  Harvard  College,  and  of  "  some  eminent  persons 
therein  educated  ;  "  the  fifth  describes  "  the  faith  and  order  of 
the  churches  ;  "  the  sixth  speaks  of  "  many  illustrious  discov*- 
eries  and  demonstrations  of  the  divine  providence  in  remark- 
able mercies  and  judgments  "  —  the  book  in  which,  it  is  said, 
his  soul  most  delighted  ;  and  the  seventh  narrates  "  the  afflic- 
tive disturbances  which  the  churches  of  New  England  have 
suffered  from  their  various  adversaries,"  namely,  impostors, 
Quakers,  Separatists,  Indians,  and  the  Devil. 
0  The  work  is  a  treasure-house  of  information.  No  histo- 
rian was  ever  better  equipped  for  his  work.  Besides  access  to 
a  multitude  of  original  documents  that  have  since  perished,  he 
was  acquainted  with  many  of  the  leading  men  of  New  England, 
and  had  himself  been  identified  with  various  important  politi- 
cal and  ecclesiastical  interests.  Yet  the  manner  in  which  he 
discharged  the  functions  of  historian  is  not  altogether  satisfac- 
tory. Perhaps  he  was  too  near  the  events  to  be  strictly  impar- 
tial. His  personal  feelings  —  his  friendships  or  his  animosities 
—  were  allowed,  perhaps  unconsciously,  to  color  his  statements ; 
and  in  regard  to  his  facts,  he  is  open  to  the  very  serious  charge 
of  being  careless  and  inaccurate.  While  his  work  is  indispen- 
sable for  a  thorough  understanding  of  New  England  history,  it 
is  always  safe  to  have  his  statement  of  important  facts  corrobo- 
rated by  collateral  testimony.  ' ' 


COTTON  MATHER.  29 

Notwithstanding  his  laborious  application  to  reading  and 

7  study,  Cotton  Mather  was  interested  in  a  surprising  number  of 
philanthropic  undertakings.  He  wrote  a  book  entitled  "  Boni- 

'/  facius,  an  Essay  upon  the  Good  that  is  to  be  Devised  and 
Designed,  with  Proposals  of  Unexceptionable  Methods  to  do 
Good  in  the  World,"  — a  work  that  places  philanthropy  upon 
a  business  basis,  and  anticipates  many  of  the  benevolent  asso- 
ciations of  the  present  day.  Of  this  book  Benjamin  Franklin 
says  that  it  "  perhaps  gave  me  a  turn  of  thinking,  that  had  an 
influence  on  some  of  the  principal  future  events  of  my  life."  1 
Cotton  Mather  sought  to  check  the  vice  of  drunkenness,  and 
was  perhaps  our  first  temperance  reformer.  Though  he  pur- 
chased a  slave  (for  slavery  then  existed  in  New  England),  he 
interested  himself  in  the  education  of  negroes,  and  at  his  own 
expense  established  a  school  for  their  instruction.  He  wrote 
a  work  on  the  Christianizing  of  the  negroes,  and  noted  in  his 
Diary  :  "  My  design  is,  not  only  to  lodge  a  copy  in  every  family 
in  New  England,  that  has  a  negro  in  it,  but  also  to  send  num- 
bers of  them  into  the  Indies."  He  took  an  interest  in  foreign 
missions,  and  proposed  to  send  Bibles  and  Psalters  among  the 
nations. 

The  darkest  feature  in  the  life  of  Cotton  Mather  —  a  fea- 
ture which  avenging  critics  have  by  no  means  lost  sight  of  —  is 

j  his  connection  with  the  witchcraft  tragedy.  In  common  with 
people  of  every  class  in  his  day,  he  believed  in  the  reality  of 
witchcraft.  In  1685,  the  year  he  was  ordained,  he  published  a 
work  entitled  "Memorable  Providences  relating  to  Witchcraft," 
which  had  the  misfortune  of  being  quoted  as  an  authority  in 
connection  with  the  Salem  horrors.  Looking  upon  himself  as 
specially  set  for  the  defence  of  Zion,  he  gave  himself  with  Old 
Testament  zeal  to  the  extermination  of  what  he  believed  a 
work  of  the  Devil. 

^\  Over  against  this  dreadful  delusion  should  be  placed  his 
heroic  conduct  in  advocating  vaccination  at  a  time  when  it  was 
considered  a  dangerous  and  [mpious  mriovati^11'  When  the 

l  Autobiography,  chap.  i. 


30  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

smallpox  made  its  appearance  in  Boston,  the  physicians,  with 
one  honorable  exception,  were  opposed  to  the  newly  advocated 
system  of  vaccination  on  the  general  principle,  strange  to  say, 
that  "  it  was  presumptuous  in  man  to  inflict  disease  on  man, 
that  being  the  prerogative  of  the  Most  High."  The  matter 
was  discussed  with  great  bitterness  of  feeling  ;  and  the  mass 
of  the  people,  as  well  as  the  civil  authorities,  were  against  the 
new  treatment.  But  Cotton  Mather  had  been  convinced  of 
the  ^jficacy  of  vaccination  ;  and  accordingly,  though  he  knew 
it  would  cost  him  his  popularity,  and  perhaps  expose  him  to 
personal  violence,  he  resolutely  faced  the  popular  clamor,  and 
boldly  vindicated  the  truth.  It  was  only  after  the  lapse  of  con- 
siderable time  that  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  popu- 
lar prejudice  give  way. 

/)  It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  Cotton  Mather  that  he 
was  never  chosen  president  of  Harvard  College,  a  position  to 
which  he  ardently,  though  as  he  thought  unselfishly,  aspired. 
On  two  occasions,  when  he  confidently  expected  election,  he 
was  humiliated  by  seeing  less  learned  men  chosen  for  the 
place.  He  attributed  his  defeat  to  the  influence  of  his  ene- 
mies, and  never  for  a  moment  suspected  the  real  cause,  which 
was  a  distrust,  perhaps  too  well  founded,  of  his  prudence  and 
judgment. 

Hji_dj«l_Fe]x_jJ3i_i£28.  Though  not  a  man  of  great  ori- 
ginal genius,  his  mind  was  massive  and  strong.  He  had  the 
quality  which  some  have  held  to  be  the  essential  thing  in 
genius,  —  the  power  of  indomitable  and  systematic^  mdustr\{j 
His  spiritual  life,  while  influenced  by  Puritanic  ideals,  was 
profound  ;  and  unbelief  has  sometimes  mocked  at  experiences 
which  it  lacked  the  capacity  to  understand.  He  was  followed 
to  the  grave  by  an  immense  procession,  including  all  the  high 
officers  of  the  Province ;  and  the  general  feeling  was  that  a 
great  man  had  fallen,  the  weight  of  whose  life,  in  spite  of 
imperfections,  had  been  on  the  side  of  righteousness. 


SECOND    COLONIAL    PERIOD. 


REPRESENTATIVE   WRITERS. 

BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN.  JONATHAN    EDWARDS. 

OTHER    WRITERS. 

DAVID  BRAINERD  (1718-1747).  Missionary  to  the  Indians.  A  man  of 
strong  mental  powers,  fervent  zeal,  and  extensive  knowledge.  "  Mira- 
bilia  Dei  inter  Indices  "  and  "  Divine  Grace  Displayed  "  are  made  up 
of  his  missionary  journals. 

WILLIAM  LIVINGSTON  (1723-1790).  Jurist,  legislator,  and  poet.  For 
a  time  governor  of  New  Jersey.  Author  of  the  poem  "  Philosophic 
Solitude." 

MATHER  BYLES  (1706-1788).  Preacher,  poet,  and  wit.  He  published  a 
volume  of  poems  in  1736. 

WILLIAM  BYRD  (1674-1744).  Founder  of  the  cities  of  Richmond  and 
Petersburg.  Author  of  the  "  History  of  the  Dividing  Line "  between 
Virginia  and  North  Carolina,  — "  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  the 
literary  legacies  of  the  colonial  age." 

JAMES  BLAIR  (1656-1743).  Founder  of  William  and  Mary  College. 
Author  of  "  The  Present  State  of  Virginia  and  the  College,"  and 
"  Our  Saviour's  Divine  Sermon  on  the  Mount." 

WILLIAM  STITH  (1689-1755).  President  of  William  and  Mary  College, 
and  author  of  the  "  History  of  the  First  Discovery  and  Settlement 
of  Virginia,"  — "  in  accuracy  of  detail  not  exceeded  by  any  American 
historical  work." 

SAMUEL  SEWALL  (1652-1730).  A  graduate  of  Harvard,  and  chief-justice 
of  Massachusetts  in  1718.  Among  his  works  are  "Answer  to  Quer- 
ies Respecting  America,"  and  especially  his  "  Diary,"  which  presents 
an  interesting  and  graphic  account  of  Puritan  life  in  the  seventeenth 
century. 


II. 

SECOND    COLONIAL  PERIOD. 
(1689-1763.) 

THE  early  history  of  America  has  a  peculiar  interest 
for  those  who  perceive  the  relation  of  its  events  to  the 
subsequent  development  of  the  country.  The  growth  of 
a  great  nation  can  be  clearly  traced  step  by  step.  Great 
interests  were  involved  in  the  success  or  failure  of  ap- 
parently small  enterprises.  The  life  of  a  nation  —  princi- 
ples upon  which  the  welfare  of  future  millions  depended 
—  was  often  at  stake  in  some  obscure  and  apparently  in- 
significant struggle. 

The  history  of  this  period,  with  its  small  exploring, 
parties,  savage  massacres,  and  p^tty  military  cajnpaigns, 
seems  at  first  sight  to  be  a  confused  mass  of  disconnected 
events.  But  in  the  life  of  nations,  as  of  individuals, 
"  there  is  a  destiny  that  shapes  our  ends ; "  and  through- 
out all  the  maze  of  injustice,  tyranny,  and  bloodshed,  it 
is  now  possible  to  discern  the  divine  purpose.  God  was 
keeping  watch  by  the  cradle  of  a  great  people. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  America 
entered  upon  a  new  stage  of  progress.  All  the  thirteen 
colonies,  except  Georgia,  had  been  established.  The  toil 
and  dangers  of  early  settlement  had  been  overcome.  The 
colonies  had  largely  increased  in  population  ;  and  agricul- 
ture, manufacture,  and  commerce  had  made  a  substantial 
33 


34  AMERICAN-  LITER  A  TURE. 

beginning.  By  the  close  of  the  period  the  population  of 
the  colonies  had  reached  more  than  a  million  and  a  half. 
In  1/38  forty-one  topsail  vessels,  averaging  a  hundred  and 
fifty  tons,  were  built  in  Boston. 

The  educational  interests  of  the  colonies  kept  pace 
with  their  material  advancement.  In  New  England  there 
was  not  an  adult,  born  in  this  country,  who  could  not  read 
and  write.  During  this  period  seven  colleges  —  Yale, 
Princeton,  King's  (now  Columbia),  Brown,  Queen's  (after- 
wards Rutgers),  Dartmouth,  and  Hampden-Sidney  —  were 
founded.  In  1704  the  News-Letter,  the  first  periodical 
of  the  New  World,  was  published  in  Boston  ;  and  before 
the  close  of  the  French  and  Indian  War  in  1763,  ten 
other  newspapers  had  made  their  appearance  in  various 
colonies.  The  press  at  last  became  free.  Official  censor- 
shipsreceived  its  death-blow  in  New  York  in  1734,  when 
Andrew  Hamilton,  an  aged  lawyer  of  Philadelphia,  ad- 
dressed the  jury  in  behalf  of  an  imprisoned  printer  :  "  The 
question  before  you  is  not  the  cause  of  a  poor  printer,  nor 
of  New  York  alone ;  it  is  the  best  cause  —  the  cause  of 
liberty.  Every  man  who  prefers  freedom  to  a  life  of  sla- 
very will  bless  and  honor  you  as  men  who,  by  an  impartial 
verdict,  lay  a  noble  foundation  for  securing  to  ourselves, 
our  posterity,  and  our  neighbors,  that  to  which  nature 
and  the  honor  of  our  country  have  given  us  a  right  — 
the  liberty  of  oppo.  :ng  arbitrary  power  by  speaking  and 
writing  truth." 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  future  greatness  of  America 
began  to  dawn  upon  the  minds  of  men.  The  world  had 
never  before  witnessed  such  a  rapid  increase  of  prosperity 
and  power.  In  contemplating  the  rising  glory  of  America, 
an  Italian  poet  sang  that  the  spirit  of  ancient  Rome,  im- 


SECOA'D   COLONIAL   PERIOD.  35 

mortal  and  undecayed,  was  spreading  towards  the  New 
World.  Bishop  Berkeley,  in  prophetic  vision,  foretold  a 
"golden  age,"  when  the  arts  would  flourish,  and  when 
a  race  of  "  wisest  heads  and  noblest  hearts "  would  be 
born  :  — 

"  Not  such  as  Europe  breeds  in  her  decay 

Such  as  she  bred  when  fresh  and  young, 
When  heavenly  flame  did  animate  her  clay, 
By  future  poets  shall  be  sung. 

Westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way; 

The  first  four  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day; 

Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last." 

In  England  it  was  believed  that  the  colonial  leaders 
were  secretly  meditating  and  planning  independence. 
Though  this  was  undoubtedly  a  mistake,  yet  a  growing 
national  feeling  is  clearly  discernible  in  the  utterances 
and  relations  of  the  colonies.  It  could  not  well  be  other- 
wise in  the  presence  of  their  increasing  prosperity  and 
promising  future,  and  of  the  strengthening  ties  that  bound 
them  together.  The  colonists  were  chiefly  of  Teutonic 
origin.  They  came  to  this  country  as  voluntary  exiles^ in 
order  to  escape  religious  or  political  oppression,  and  were 
thus  united  by  the  sympathy  of  suffering  and  sacrifice. 
For  the  most  part  they  used  the  English  language ;  and 
though  there  were  Puritans,  Episcopalians,  Quakers,  Hu- 
guenots, and  Presbyterians,  they  were  nearly  all  warm 
adherents  of  Protestantism.  Yet,  in  spite  of  these  strong 
affinities,^  the  colonies  were  for  a  long  time  jealous  and 
distrustful  of  one  another.  Their  interests  were  not  re- 
garded as  common  ;  and  without  the  pressure  of  external 
circumstances  they  would  probably  have  remained  a  long 
time  separated. 


36  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

This  external  pressure,  which  was  necessary  to  bring 
the  colonies  into  closer  relationship,  was  not  lacking.  It 
came  from  two  opposite  sources.  In  the  first  place,  the 
policy  of  England  was  admirably  adapted  to  develop  a 
spirit  of  freedom,  and  to  unite  the  colonies  in  a  common 
resistance  of  oppression.  At  that  time  it  was  the  prevail- 
ing view  abroad  that  the  colonies  existed  solely  for  the 
benefit  of  the  mother  country.  Consequently,  the  meas- 
ures of  government  were  adopted,  not  for  the  welfare  of 
the  colonies,  but  for  the  profit  of  England.  This  unjust 
policy  naturally  provoked  opposition  in  a  people  who  had 
abandoned  home  and  country  for  the  sake  of  freedom. 

The  other  influence  impelling  the  colonies  to  confede- 
ration came  from  the  ambitious  schemes  of  France.  As 
will  have  been  noticed,  the  English  colonies  extended 
along  the  Atlantic  seaboard  from  Maine  to  Florida. 
Though  their  territory  theoretically  extended  across  the 
continent,  their  settlements  did  not  reach  inland  more 
than  a  hundred  miles.  To  prevent  the  further  extension 
of  the  English  colonies,  the  French  formed  the  magnifi- 
cent plan  of  occupying  the  interior  of  the  continent,  and 
thus  of  confining  their  enemies  to  a  narrow  belt  on  the 
Atlantic  coast.  They  already  had  possession  of  Canada ; 
and  ascending  the  St.  Lawrence,  they  established  forts 
and  trading-posts  along  the  southern  shores  of  the  Great 
Lakes,  and  thence  down  the  Mississippi  to  New  Orleans. 
Having  discovered  the  Mississippi,  they  laid  claim  to  all 
the  territory  drained  by  its  waters ;  that  is  to  say,  to  the 
magnificent  empire  lying  between  the  Alleghany  and  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  "  If  the  French,"  wrote  the  governor 
of  New  York  in  1687,  "have  all  that  they  pretend  to  have 
discovered  in  these  parts,  the  king  of  England  will  not 


SECOND   COLONIAL   PERIOD.  37 

have  a  hundred  miles  from  the  sea  anywhere."  A  con- 
flict between  the  English  and  the  French  thus  became 
inevitable ;  and  the  stake  involved  was  nothing  less  than 
the  life  of  the  English  colonies,  and  the  possession  of  the 
American  continent.  In  the  presence  of  this  conflict,  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  drew  the  colonies  into  closer 
sympathy  and  union. 

The  struggle  between  England  and  France  for  the 
possession  of  America  —  a  struggle  that  lasted  with  inter- 
missions for  more  than  seventy  years  —  began  in  1 689, 
the  dividing-point  between  the  two  colonial  periods.  First 
came  King  William's  War,  when  Louis  XIV.  espoused 
the  cause  of  James  II.,  and  Count  Frontenac  was  sent  to 
be  governor  of  Canada,  with  orders  to  conquer  New  York. 
Then  followed  in  quick  succession  Queen  Anne's  War,  or 
the  War  of  the  Spanish  Succession  ;  King  George's  War, 
or  the  War  of  the  Austrian  Succession ;  and  lastly,  the 
Seven  Years'  War,  or  the  French  and  Indian  War.  These 
various  wars,  as  their  names  generally  indicate,  grew  out 
of  conflicting  European  interests ;  but  since  England  and 
France,  as  hostile  nations,  were  invariably  opposed  to  each 
other,  their  colonies  in  America  were  always  drawn  into 
the  conflict.  The  course  of  these  successive  wars,  with 
their  varying  fortunes  and  sickening  massacres,  cannot 
here  be  followed  in  detail.  With  the  Treaty  of  Paris  in 
1763  the  conflict  in  America  finally  came  to  an  end  by 
the  cession  of  Canada  and  the  Mississippi  Valley  to  Eng- 
land. At  one  blow  the  French  possessions  in  America 
and  French  schemes  for  a  great  western  empire  were 
forever  swept  away. 

Had  the  issue  of  this  protracted  struggle  been  in  favor 
of  France,  the  course  of  American  history  and  of  Ameri- 


38  AMERICAN  LITERA  TURE. 

can  literature  would  have  been  very  different.  French 
colonization  in  America  represented  three  distinct  tenden- 
cies, from  all  of  which  the  English  colonists  had  broken 
away.  First  of  all,  in  direct  antagonism  against  popular 
government,  Louis  XIV.  stood  for  despotism.  His  atti- 
tude toward  France  is  indicated  in  his  famous  saying, 
"  L'Etat  cest  mot."  In  the  second  place,  the  colonization 
undertaken  by  the  French  carried  with  it  the  feudal  sys- 
tem. Instead  of  the  political  and  social  equality  recognized 
and  encouraged  in  the  English  colonies,  it  meant  the  class 
system  of  nobles  and  inferiors.  In  the  third  place,  the 
success  of  the  French  meant  the  establishment  of  a  wholly 
different  form  of  belief  and  worship.  The  most  enter- 
prising and  devoted  of  the  French  explorers  were  Jesuits, 
whose  self-sacrificing  work  among  the  Indians  sometimes 
reached  the  highest  point  of  heroism.  In  short,  if  the 
French  schemes  had  been  successful,  the  result  would 
have  been,  as  was  contemplated,  a  new  mediaeval  France, 
which  in  its  development,  having  possession  of  the  largest 
and  fairest  part  of  the  continent,  would  have  driven  the 
English  colonies  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

The  first  step  towards  a  general  union  of  the  American 
colonies  was  taken  in  1684.  The  French  had  encroached 
upon  the  territory  of  the  Five  Nations  in  New  York ;  and 
in  preparation  for  the  inevitable  conflict,  the  Indians  de- 
sired to  form  a  treaty  of  peace  with  the  English.  Accord- 
ingly, a  cpjivention  composed  of  delegates  from  Virginia, 
Maryland,  New  York,  and  Massachusetts,  met  at  Albany. 
For  the  first  time,  the  northern  and  the  southern  colonies 
came  together  to  consider  the  common  welfare.  The  con- 
ference resulted  in  a  treaty ;  and  the  Mohawk  chief  at  its 
conclusion  spoke  better  than  he  knew  when  he  said  :  "  We 


SECOND    COLONIAL   PERIOD.  39 

now  plant  a  tree  whose  top  will  reach  the  sun,  and  its 
branches  spread  far  abroad,  so  that  it  shall  be  seen  afar 
off,  and  we  shall  shelter  ourselves  under  it,  and  live  in 
peace  without  molestation." 

The  necessity  of  a  closer  general  union  gradually  be- 
came more  apparent.  In  1698  William  Penn  proposed  a 
plan  of  federation.  In  1754  the  Convention  of  Albany, 
composed  of  representatives  from  six  of  the  colonies,  re- 
solved that  a  union  ought  to  be  formed,  and  accordingly 
recommended  the  adoption  of  a  constitution,  the  outlines 
of  which  had  been  drawn  up  by  Franklin.  But  this  con- 
stitution was  disapproved  in  England,  because  it  allowed 
too  much  freedom  to  the  colonies  ;  and  it  was  rejected  by 
the  colonies,  because  it  gave  too  much  authority  to  Eng- 
land. Thus,  though  the  sentiment  of  union  was  steadily 
growing,  it  did  not  reach  full  practical  realization.  That 
consummation,  which  was  to  mark  the  birth  of  the  Amer- 
ican nation,  was  reserved  for  the  following  period. 

The  changed  conditions  of  American  life  during  this 
period  exerted  a  salutary  influence  upon  literature.  While 
the  conditions  were  far  from  being  ideal,  they  marked  a 
considerable  advance  upon  those  of  the  earlier  period,  and 
thus  gave  a  broader  scope  and  better  form  to  literary 
productions.  The  hard  and  unceasing  struggle  for  exis- 
tence characteristic  of  the  greater  part  of  the  first  colonial 
period  had  given  place  to  comparative  ease  and  comfort. 
While  there  was  but  little  accumulation  of  wealth,  there 
were,  especially  in  the  older  colonies,  many  comfortable 
homes,  in  which  books  and  leisure  supplied  the  opportunity 
for  culture.  Several  considerable  cities  —  Boston,  New 
York,  and  Philadelphia  —  served  in  some  degree  as  lit- 
erary centres.  The  growing  number  of  schools  added  to 


40  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

the  popular  intelligence.  The  newspapers  furnished  top- 
ics for  general  thought  and  discussion,  while  the  closer 
relations  and  larger  interests  of  the  colonies  gave  a  wider 
horizon  to  the  intellectual  life  of  the  people. 

As  the  writers  of  this  second  colonial  period  were 
American  by  birth  and  education,  their  works  assume  a 
more  original  and  more  distinctive  character.  The  writ- 
ings of  this  period,  whether  in  philosophy,  theology,  his- 
tory, politics,  or  poetry,  possessed,  in  addition  to  a  higher 
artistic  excellence,  a  perceptible  American  flavor.  Not 
many  authors  attained  to  distinction ;  but  among  the 
shoal  of  insignificant  writers,  there  were  two  leviathans, 
—  Benjamin  Franklin  and  Jonathan  Edwards, — who  be- 
came eminent  not  only  in  the  colonies,  but  also  in  England 
and  on  the  Continent. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  41 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 

No  other  American,  excepting  only  the  Father  of  his  Coun- 
try, is  more  interesting  to  people  of  every  class  than  Benjamin 
Franklin.  His  popularity  has  been  extraordinary.  Since  his 
death,  a  little  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  no  decade  has 
passed  without  the  publication  of  a  biography  or  a  new  edition 
of  his  works.  His  "  Autobiography,"  the  most  popular  histori- 
cal work  of  America,  possesses  a  perennial  interest.  It  is  re- 
plete not  only  with  interesting  incident,  but  also  with  genial 
humor  and  profound  practical  wisdom. 

The  facts  of  his  life  are  so  well  known  that  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  dwell  upon  them.  He  was  born  in  Boston,  Jan.  17, 
1706  —  the  youngest  of  an  old-fashioned  family  of  ten  children. 
From  his  father,  who  was  a  candlemaker  and  soap-boiler,  he 
inherited  not  only  a  strong  physical  constitution,  but  his  "  solid 
judgment  in  prudential  matters."  He  attended  the  free  gram- 
mar schools  of  Boston  about  a  year,  and  gave  promise  of 
becoming  a  good  scholar ;  but  owing  to  the  straitened  cir- 
cumstances of  his  father,  he  was  taken  away  in  order  to  cut 
wicks,  mould  candles,  and  run  errands  —  all  which  he  heartily 
disliked. 

From  childhood  he  was  passionately  fond  of  reading,  and 
he  used  the  little  money  that  came  into  his  hands  to  buy  books. 
His  first  purchase  was  Bunyan's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  which 
after  being  read  and  re-read  was  sold  to  buy  Burton's  "Histori- 
cal Collections  "  —  a  class  of  writings  of  which  he  was  specially 
fond.  Among  the  books  of  his  early  reading  were  Plutarch's 
"Lives  "  and  Mather's  "Essay  to  do  Good,"  which  he  specially 
mentions  as  exerting  a  salutary  influence  upon  his  mind  and 
character.  He  did  not  escape  the  common  temptation  of  book- 


42  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ish  youths  to  attempt  poetry,  and  wrote  two  ballads  which,  in 
spite  of  a  flattering  success  at  the  time,  he  afterwards  charac- 
terized, and  no  doubt  justly,  as  "  wretched  stuff."  From  the 
danger  of  becoming  a  sorry  poet  he  was  timely  rescued  by  his 
father,  who  with  Philistine  coldness  called  his  attention  to  the 
fact  that  "  verse-makers  were  generally  beggars." 

But  his  literary  instincts  were  not  to  be  quenched ;  and 
though  he  gave  up  poetry,  he  cultivated  prose  with  great  ardor. 
To  increase  his  fluency,  he  was  accustomed  to  engage  in  dis- 
cussion with  another  literary  lad  by  the  name  of  Collins ;  but 
he  had  the  good  sense  to  escape  the  disputatious  habit  which 
this  practice  is  in  danger  of  developing,  and  which  wise  people, 
he  tells  us,  seldom  fall  into.  He  modelled  his  style  after  Addi- 
son's  Spectator,  which  was  then  a  novelty  in  the  colonies. 
But  he  had  too  much  force  of  mind  and  character  to  become 
a  mere  imitator ;  and  through  a  laborious  apprenticeship  he 
developed  a  style  that  is  admirable  for  its  simplicity,  clearness, 
and  force. 

He  was  early  encouraged  in  his  literary  efforts.  At  the  age 
of  twelve  he  had  been  apprenticed  to  his  brother  James  to 
learn  the  printing  business.  Here  he  worked  on  the  New  Eng- 
land Courant,  the  second  newspaper  that  appeared  in  America. 
Some  of  the  contributors  occasionally  met  in  the  office  to  dis- 
cuss the  little  essays  that  had  appeared  in  the  paper.  Having 
caught  the  mania  for  appearing  in  print,  and  fearing  to  have 
his  productions  rejected  if  the  authorship  were  known,  he  dis- 
guised his  hand,  wrote  an  anonymous  paper,  and  slipped  it  at 
night  under  the  door  of  the  printing-house.  It  was  found  next 
morning,  and  discussed  by  the  little  company  that  called  in  as 
usual.  "  They  read  it,"  he  says,  "  commented  on  it  in  my  hear- 
ing, and  I  had  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  finding  it  met  with  their 
approbation,  and  that,  in  their  different  guesses  at  the  author, 
none  were  named  but  men  of  some  character  among  us  for 
learning  and  ingenuity."  It  is  not  strange  that  he  continued 
his  anonymous  communications  for  some  time. 

The  apprenticeship,  though  not  till  he  had  mastered  the 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  43 

printer's  trade,  came  to  an  abrupt  termination.  Long  dissatis- 
fied with  the  ill-treatment  received  from  his  brother,  who  was 
a  high-tempered,  overbearing  man,  he  at  last  ran  away  at  the 
age  of  seventeen.  He  landed  first  at  New  York ;  and  failing 
to  find  employment  there,  he  continued  his  journey  to  Philadel- 
phia. The  figure  he  cut  that  first  Sunday  morning  as  he  walked 
the  streets  with  a  roll  under  each  arm,  and  excited  the  laughter 
of  the  young  lady  he  afterwards  married,  is  familiar  to  every 
one.  He  found  employment,  and  attracted  the  notice  of  Gov- 
ernor Keith,  who  after  a  time  persuaded  him  to  go  to  England 
for  a  printer's  outfit. 

On  reaching  England,  he  found  that  he  had  been  duped  by 
Keith,  who  belonged  to  that  class  of  men  lavish  in  promises 
but  miserly  in  help.  The  letter  of  credit  which  the  governor 
had  promised  was  wanting.  In  his  embarrassment,  Franklin 
was  advised  by  a  prudent  business  man  whom  he  had  met  on 
the  vessel,  to  seek  employment  at  his  trade.  "Among  the 
printers  here,"  his  friend  argued,  "  you  will  improve  yourself, 
and  when  you  return  to  America,  you  will  set  up  to  greater 
advantage."  This  advice  he  wisely  followed,  and  successively 
worked  in  two  large  printing-houses,  where  he  used  his  eyes  to 
good  advantage.  He  practised  his  usual  industry  and  temper- 
ance, and  commanded  the  respect  of  his  associates. 

After  spending  eighteen  months  in  London,  where  his  life 
morally  was  far  from  being  a  model,  he  received  an  advanta- 
geous offer  to  return  to  Philadelphia  and  enter  a  store  as  clerk. 
After  a  promising  beginning,  this  arrangement  was  in  a  few 
months  brought  to  an  end  by  the  merchant's  death.  Franklin 
then  returned  to  printing,  and  engaged  with  Keimer,  for  whom 
he  had  worked  before  going  to  England.  The  deficiencies  of 
the  printing-office  were  supplied  by  Franklin's  ingenuity;  for  he 
cast  type,  prepared  engravings,  made  ink,  was  "warehouse 
man,  and,  in  short,  quite  a  factotum.'"  But  as  he  taught  the 
other  workmen  of  the  office,  among  whom  were  "  a  wild  Irish- 
man" and  "an  Oxford  scholar,"  his  services  became  less  ne- 
cessary ;  and  on  the  first  opportunity  his  employer  provoked  a 


44  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

quarrel,  and  brought  the  engagement  to  an  end.  This  led  to 
Franklin's  setting  up  for  himself;  and  he  now  entered  upon 
a  career  of  uninterrupted  prosperity,  which  was  to  continue  for 
more  than  sixty  years. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  business  projects,  he  did  not  neglect 
his  literary  culture.  He  formed  a  club,  which  was  called  the 
Junto,  and  to  which  most  of  his  friends  of  literary  taste  be- 
longed. Its  object  was  mutual  improvement  by  means  of  es- 
says and  discussions.  For  greater  convenience  of  reference, 
a  library  was  formed,  each  member  of  the  club  loaning  such 
books  as  he  could  spare.  Afterwards  Franklin  started  a  sub- 
scription library,  the  first  of  its  kind  in  America.  The  club 
continued  for  nearly  forty  years,  and  was  the  best  school  of 
philosophy,  morality,  and  politics  in  the  province. 

Beyond  most  men,  Franklin  had  the  power  of  self-control. 
He  was  thus  able  from  early  manhood  to  bring  his  conduct 
under  the  direction  of  principles  which  he  had  deliberately 
adopted  in  the  light  of  reason.  When  he  was  told  by  a  Quaker 
friend  that  he  was  generally  thought  to  be  proud,  and  when  he 
was  satisfied  of  the  fact  by  the  evidence  adduced  (it  would 
have  been  hard  to  convince  most  men),  he  at  once  added  hu- 
mility to  the  list  of  virtues  in  which  he  was  to  exercise  himself ; 
and  he  succeeded  in  acquiring  at  least  its  outward  expression. 
He  gave  up  his  dogmatic  manner  in  conversation  and  argu- 
ment ;  and  in  place  of  positive  assertion,  he  formed  the  habit 
of  introducing  his  opinions  with  modest  diffidence.  He  recog- 
nized the  truth  of  Pope's  lines  :  — 

"Men  must  be  taught,  as  if  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  forgot." 

He  accustomed  himself  to  introduce  his  statements  with 
"  I  conceive,"  "  I  apprehend,"  "  It  appears  to  me  at  present," 
and  other  similar  expressions.  "And  this  mode,"  he  says, 
"which  I  at  first  put  on  with  some  violence  to  natural  inclina- 
tion, became  at  length  easy,  and  so  habitual  to  me,  that  perhaps 


iY  FKAXKLIN:  45 

for  the  last  fifty  years  no  one  has  ever  heard  a  dogmatical 
expression  escape  me.  And  to  this  habit  (after  my  character 
of  integrity)  I  think  it  principally  owing  that  I  had  early  so 
much  weight  with  my  fellow  citizens,  when  I  proposed  new  in- 
stitutions, or  alterations  in  the  old  ;  and  so  much  influence  in 
public  councils,  when  I  became  a  member  ;  for  I  was  but  a 
bad  speaker,  never  eloquent,  subject  to  much  hesitation  in  my 
choice  of  words,  hardly  correct  in  language,  and  yet  I  generally 
carried  my  point."  All  which  is  delightfully  frank,  and  takes 
us,  as  it  were,  behind  the  scenes. 

To  return  to  his  printing  business,  he  pushed  it  with  great 
shrewdness  and  energy,  and  with  his  usual  frankness  he  lets  us 
into  what  he  considers  the  secret  of  his  success.  "  In  order  to 
secure  my  credit  and  character  as  a  tradesman,  I  took  care  not 
only  to  be  in  reality  industrious  and  frugal,  but  to  avoid  the 
appearances  to  the  contrary.  I  dressed  plain,  and  was  seen  at 
no  places  of  idle  diversion.  I  never  went  out  a  fishing  or  shoot- 
ing ;  a  book,  indeed,  sometimes  debauched  me  from  my  work, 
but  that  was  seldom,  was  private,  and  gave  no  scandal ;  and  to 
show  that  I  was  not  above  my  business,  I  sometimes  brought 
home  the  paper  I  purchased  at  the  stores,  through  the  streets 
on  a  wheelbarrow.  Thus  being  esteemed  an  industrious,  thriv- 
ing young  man,  and  paying  duly  for  what  I  bought,  the  mer- 
chants who  imported  stationery  solicited  my  custom  ;  others 
proposed  supplying  me  with  books,  and  I  went  on  prosper- 
ously." 

As  opportunity  afforded,  he  judiciously  increased  his  busi- 
ness, publishing  a  newspaper  which  became  the  most  influential 
in  the  colonies,  and  opening  a  stationer's  shop.  He  regarded 
his  newspaper  as  a  means  of  benefiting  the  public  ;  and  besides 
reprinting  extracts  from  the  Spectator,  he  frequently  contributed 
little  essays  of  his  own.  Among  these  he  mentions  "  a  So- 
cratic  dialogue,  tending  to  prove  that,  whatever  might  be  his 
parts  and  abilities,  a  ^icious  man  could  not  properly  be  called 
a  man  of  sense." 

In  1732  he  began  the  publication  of  an  Almanac  under  the 


46  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

name  of  Richard  Saunders ;  it  was  continued  about  twenty-five 
years,  and  was  commonly  called  "  Poor  Richard's  Almanac." 
It  had  an  annual  sale  of  about  ten  thousand  copies,  and  proved 
quite  a  profitable  undertaking.  Considering  it  a  useful  means 
of  conveying  instruction  to  the  common  people,  he  filled  every 
available  corner  "  with  proverbial  sentences,  chiefly  such  as 
inculcated  industry  and  frugality  as  the  means  of  procuring 
wealth,  and  thereby  securing  virtue;  it  being  more  difficult  for 
a  man  in  want  to  act  always  honestly,  as,  to  use  here  one  of 
those  proverbs,  /'/  is  hard  for  an  empty  sack  to  stand  uprigJit." 
These  proverbs,  very  few  of  which  were  original,  represent 
the  practical  wisdom  of  many  nations  and  ages.  In  1758  he 
brought  the  principal  ones  together  in  the  form  of  a  connected 
discourse,  which  is  supposed  to  be  delivered  by  a  wise  old  man 
to  the  crowd  attending  an  auction.  "The  piece,"  to  give 
Franklin's  account  of  it,  "being  universally  approved,  was 
copied  in  all  the  newspapers  of  the  American  continent,  re- 
printed in  Britain  on  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  to  be  stuck  up  in 
houses ;  two  translations  were  made  of  it  in  France,  and  great 
numbers  bought  by  the  clergy  and  gentry,  to  distribute  gratis 
among  their  poor  parishioners  and  tenants.  In  Pennsylvania, 
as  it  discouraged  useless  expense  in  foreign  superfluities,  some 
thought  it  had  its  share  of  influence  in  producing  that  growing 
plenty  of  money,  which  was  observable  for  several  years  after 
its  publication." 

By  this  time  Franklin  had  become  a  prominent  person  in 
the  community ;  and  his  business  success  having  put  him  in 
easier  circumstances,  he  was  able  to  turn  his  attention  more 
fully  to  public  affairs.  In  1736  he  was  chosen  clerk  of  the 
General  Assembly,  and  the  following  year  he  was  appointed 
postmaster  at  Philadelphia.  As  a  public-spirited  citizen  he 
sought  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  city,  and  to  this  end  he 
organized  a  regular  police  force,  supported  by  taxation,  and 
a  voluntary  fire  company.  When  the  Quaker  Assembly  refused 
to  pass  a  militia  law  during  the  war  of  the  Spanish  Succession, 
he  strongly  set  forth  the  defenceless  condition  of  the  province, 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  47 

and  proposed  the  organization  of  a  voluntary  body  of  troops. 
The  success  of  the  enterprise  was  astonishing.  At  a  public 
meeting  in  Philadelphia,  the  enrolment  numbered  more  than 
five  hundred  in  a  single  evening ;  and  including  the  enlistment 
in  the  country,  the  number  of  volunteers  at  length  reached 
ten  thousand  men,  who  formed  themselves  into  companies 
and  regiments,  chose  officers,  and  provided  themselves  with 
arms. 

Labors  and  honors  were  now  heaped  upon  him.  He  was 
appointed  postmaster-general  for  America.  Both  Harvard  and 
Yale  honored  him  with  the  master's  degree.  He  was  the  chief 
promoter  in  establishing  an  academy  which  afterwards  became 
the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  In  his  educational  views  he 
was  progressive  beyond  his  time.  He  deserves  a  place  among 
educational  reformers.  While  building  up  his  business,  he  had 
also  gained  a  reading  knowledge  of  French,  Italian,  and  Span- 
ish. From  these  he  passed  to  Latin,  for  which  he  found  the 
"preceding  languages  had  greatly  smoothed  the  way."  Thus 
he  was  led  by  experience  to  recognize  the  truth  of  the  maxim  of 
Comenius,  that  "  the  nearer  should  precede  the  more  remote." 
Hence  he  argued,  as  the  philosopher  Locke  had  done  before 
him,  that  ancient  languages  should  be  approached  through  the 
study  of  the  modern  languages. 

In  1754  he  was  appointed  a  delegate  to  the  Albany  conven- 
tion to  consult  with  the  Six  Nations  in  regard  to  the  common 
defence  of  the  country  against  the  French.  It  was  then  that 
he  proposed  "  a  plan  for  the  union  of  all  the  colonies  under  one 
government,  so  far  as  might  be  necessary  for  defence  and  other 
important  general  purposes."  It  always  remained  his  opinion 
that  the  adoption  of  this  plan  of  union  would  have  averted  or 
certainly  delayed  the  conflict  with  the  mother  country.  "  The 
colonies  so  united,"  he  wrote  in  his  old  age,  "would  have  been 
sufficiently  strong  to  have  defended  themselves  ;  there  would 
then  have  been  no  need  of  troops  from  England;  of  course 
the  subsequent  pretext  for  taxing  America,  and  the  bloody 
contest  it  occasioned,  would  have  been  avoided.  But  such 


48  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

mistakes  are  not  new;  history  is  full  of  the  errors  of  states  and 
princes. 

'  Look  round  the  habitable  world,  how  few 
Know  their  own  good,  or  knowing  it,  pursue.' " 

In  Braddock's  disastrous  campaign,  Franklin  rendered  the 
proud  and  over-confident  general  important  aid;  and  if  his  pru- 
dent counsel  had  been  followed,  victory  would  have  taken  the 
place  of  defeat.  Later  he  was  commissioned  to  take  charge 
of  the  defence  of  the  western  frontier  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
discharged  his  difficult  task  in  an  energetic  and  successful 
manner.  He  knew  the  art  of  managing  men,  and  under  his 
direction  three  forts  or  stockades  were  built  and  provisioned 
in  a  short  time. 

In  1746  Franklin  began  his  electrical  experiments,  which 
in  a  few  years  gave  him  a  reputation  abroad  as  a  philosopher. 
Besides  a  number  of  new  experiments  invented  by  him,  he 
was  the  first  to  point  out  clearly  the  existence  of  positive  and 
negative  electricity,  and  by  his  well-known  experiment  with 
the  kite  to  prove  the  identity  of  lightning  and  electricity.  His 
experiments  and  conclusions  were  set  forth  in  various  papers 
with  the  lucidity  characteristic  of  his  thought  and  style.  His 
essays  were  read  before  the  Royal  Society,  published  in  Eng- 
land, and  afterwards,  through  the  influence  of  the  great  natu- 
ralist Buffon,  also  in  France.  Though  his  views  were  attacked 
at  various  times,  he  abstained  from  all  controversy  on  princi- 
ple, and  left  his  conclusions  to  take  care  of  themselves.  When 
urged,  on  one  occasion,  to  defend  his  invention  of  the  light- 
ning-rod, he  replied:  "I  have  never  entered  into  any  contro- 
versy in  defence  of  my  philosophical  opinions  ;  I  leave  them 
to  take  their  chance  in  the  world.  If  they  are  right,  truth  and 
experience  will  support  them  ;  if  wrong,  they  ought  to  be  re- 
futed and  rejected.  Disputes  are  apt  to  sour  one's  temper  and 
disturb  one's  quiet."  In  recognition  of  his  important  contri- 
butions to  electrical  science,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the 
Royal  Society,  and  awarded  the  Copley  medal  for  the  year  1753. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  49 

Among  the  scientists  of  the  eighteenth  century  Franklin  occu- 
pies a  high  rank. 

It  would  extend  the  sketch  too  far  to  trace  in  detail  Frank- 
lin's labors  abroad,  first  as  the  representative  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  afterwards  of  the  United  States.  In  England  he  was  cor- 
dially received  as  a  philosopher  and  statesman.  The  univer- 
sities of  St.  Andrews  and  Oxford  conferred  upon  him  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Laws.  Learned  societies  enrolled  his  name  in 
their  membership.  The  municipality  of  Edinburgh  gave  him 
the  freedom  of  the  city.  In  France  he  received  a  greater  ova- 
tion than  had  been  accorded  Voltaire.  The  people  were  en- 
thusiastic ;  the  nobility  feted  him,  medals  and  medallions  were 
struck  off  in  great  numbers.  A  Frenchman  gave  brilliant  ex- 
pression to  Franklin's  achievements  in  the  famous  line  :  — 

"  Eripuit  coelo  fulmen,  sceptrumque  tyrannis."  1 

It  was  chiefly  through  his  influence  that  the  independence 
of  the  United  States  was  recognized  by  France,  and  that 
French  aid  was  extended  for  its  achievement.  He  was  one  of 
the  five  commissioners  appointed  by  Congress  to  negotiate  the 
peace  that  put  an  end  to  the  War  of  the  Revolution  in  1782. 

In  1785,  at  his  own  request,  he  was  relieved  of  his  duties 
as  minister  to  France,  and  returned  to  his  native  country.  He 
received  an  enthusiastic  welcome.  After  his  fifty  years  of 
public  service,  it  was  his  desire  to  spend  his  few  remaining 
days  in  quiet.  "I  am  again  surrounded  by  my  friends,"  he 
writes,  "with  a  fine  family  of  grandchildren  about  my  knees, 
and  an  affectionate,  good  daughter  and  son-in-law  to  take  care 
of  me."  His  hopes,  however,  were  disappointed.  He  was 
called  to  the  gubernatorial  chair  of  Pennsylvania  for  three 
successive  years  — the  limit  fixed  by  law.  In  1787  he  was  a 
member  of  the  convention  to  frame  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States.  It  was  owing,  perhaps,  to  his  influence  that 
the  Constitution  was  unanimously  adopted. 

1  He  has  seized  the  lightning  from  heaven,  and  the  sceptre  from  tyrants. 


50  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  two  or  three  last  years  of  his  life  were  a  fitting  close 
to  his  extraordinary  career.  Though  suffering  at  times  much 
physical  pain,  he  lived  in  comfortable  retirement,  in  the  midst 
of  his  grandchildren  and  the  company  of  friends.  He  retained 
his  faculties  to  the  last;  and  that  genial  humor,  which  char- 
acterized his  life,  never  deserted  him.  His  manners  were  easy 
and  obliging;  and  his  large  benevolence  diffused  about  him 
an  atmosphere  of  unrestrained  freedom  and  satisfaction.  He 
looked  forward  to  his  approaching  end  with  philosophic  com- 
posure. "Death  I  shall  submit  to,"  he  said,  "with  the  less 
regret  as,  having  seen  during  a  long  life  a  good  deal  of  this 
world,  I  feel  a  growing  curiosity  to  be  acquainted  with  some 
other;  and  can  cheerfully,  with  filial  confidence,  resign  my 
spirit  to  the  conduct  of  that  great  and  good  Parent  of  mankind 
who  has  so  graciously  protected  and  prospered  me  from  my 
birth  to  the  present  hour."  The  end  came  the  lyth  of  April, 
1790,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four  years;  and  his  body,  followed 
by  an  immense  throng  of  people,  was  laid  to  rest  by  that  of 
his  wife  in  the  yard  of  Christ  Church. 


JONATHAN   EDWARDS 


JON  A  THAN  ED  WARDS.  5  I 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 

IN  considering  a  man's  life,  we  should  take  into  considera- 
tion its  historic  environment.  We  should  judge  it,  not  by  the 
standards  of  our  day,  but  by  the  standards  then  prevailing. 
Only  for  moral  obliquity  must  there  be  small  allowance;  for 
whatever  may  be  the  laxity  of  the  times,  every  man  has  in  his 
breast  a  monitor  against  vice. 

If  we  study  Jonathan  Edwards  with  proper  sympathy,  we 
must  pronounce  his  life  a  great  life.  Though  his  character 
was  colored  by  Puritan  austerity,  and  his  religious  experience 
involved  what  many  believe  to  have  been  morbid  emotions, 
there  is  no  questioning  the  fact  of  his  masterful  intellect  and 
his  stainless  integrity.  He  certainly  was  not,  what  a  ferocious 
critic  has  styled  him,  a  theological  "monomaniac."  There 
is  much  less  reason  to  dissent  from  the  judgment  of  another 
reviewer  who  says  of  him:  " Remarkable  for  the  beauty  of 
his  face  and  person,  lordly  in  the  easy  sweep  and  grasp  of 
his  intellect,  wonderful  in  his  purity  of  soul  and  in  his  sim- 
ple devotion  to  the  truth,  the  world  has  seldom  seen  in  finer 
combination  all  the  great  qualities  of  a  godlike  manhood."  1 

Jonathan  Edwards,  who  was  born  at  East  Windsor,  Conn., 
Oct.  5,  1703,  was  of  excellent  Puritan  stock.  His  father,  the 
Rev.  Timothy  Edwards,  was  for  sixty-four  years  the  honored 
pastor  of  the  Congregational  church  of  East  Windsor ;  and  his 
mother  was  the  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Solomon  Stoddard,  who 
was  pastor  at  Northampton,  Mass.,  for  more  than  fifty  years, 
and  one  of  the  most  eminent  ministers  of  his  day.  From  his 
mother,  who  was  a  woman  of  superior  ability  and  excellent  ed- 
ucation, he  inherited  not  only  his  delicate  features  and  gentle 

1  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  xxvi.,  255. 


52  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

disposition,  but  also  a  large  measure  of  his  intellectual  force. 
His  father,  who  was  distinguished  as  a  Latin,  Greek,  and  He- 
brew scholar,  was  accustomed  for  many  years,  in  addition  to 
his  regular  ministerial  duties,  to  prepare  young  men  for  col- 
lege. With  no  mediaeval  prejudice  against  the  higher  educa- 
tion of  woman,  he  instructed  his  daughters  (there  were  no  fewer 
than  ten  of  them)  in  the  same  studies  pursued  by  the  young 
men.  It  was  in  this  cultivated  and  studious  home,  under  the 
refining  influence  and  instruction  of  his  older  sisters,  that 
young  Edwards  received  his  preparatory  training. 

In  his  childhood  he  exhibited  extraordinary  precocity.  He 
was  not,  as  sometimes  happens,  so  absorbed  in  his  books  as 
to  lose  taste  for  the  observation  of  nature.  For  an  English 
correspondent  of  his  father's,  he  wrote  at  the  age  of  twelve 
years  an  elaborate  paper  upon  spiders,  which  shows  remarkable 
powers  of  observation.  It  is  said  actually  to  have  enlarged 
the  boundaries  of  scientific  knowledge.  Had  the  young  author 
given  himself  to  natural  science,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
he  would  have  stood  in  the  foremost  rank. 

In  1716,  when  in  his  thirteenth  year,  young  Edwards  en- 
tered Yale  College.  It  was  the  day  of  small  things  with  the 
institution;  and  the  president  residing  at  a  distance  of  forty 
miles,  the  government  and  discipline  were  chiefly  in  the  hands 
of  tutors.  The  result  was,  as  might  be  expected,  a  good  deal  of 
idleness  and  disorder  among  the  students.  But  such  was  young 
Edwards's  thirst  for  knowledge  that  he  not  only  refrained  from 
the  insubordination  of  his  fellow-students,  but  by  his  scholar- 
ship and  integrity  retained  their  respect  and  confidence. 

At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  read  Locke's  "Essay  on  the  Hu- 
man Understanding;  "  and  though  it  can  hardly  be  classed  as 
juvenile  literature,  he  declared  that  in  the  perusal  of  it  he  en- 
joyed a  far  higher  pleasure  "than  the  most  greedy  miser  finds, 
when  gathering  up  handfuls  of  silver  and  gold  from  some  newly 
discovered  treasure."  While  proficient  in  every  department  of 
study,  he  excelled  especially  in  mental  science.  He  had  been 
trained  by  his  father  to  make  much  use  of  the  pen  in  studying; 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS.  53 

and  while  still  an  undergraduate,  he  began  to  put  into  clear 
shape  his  ideas  about  the  leading  terms  of  mental  philosophy, 
such  as  cause,  existence,  space,  time,  substance,  matter,  and 
so  on.  His  notebook  of  this  period  shows  surprising  depth  of 
thought  and  lucidity  of  expression.  At  graduation  he  stood 
head  and  shoulders  above  his  class. 

Religion,  which  became  the  dominant  interest  of  his  subse- 
quent life,  engaged  his  attention  toward  the  end  of  his  college 
course.  He  passed  through  the  deep  spiritual  conflicts  that  so 
often,  especially  under  the  Puritan  type  of  faith,  are  associated 
with  profoundly  earnest  natures.  But  at  last  his  spiritual 
struggles  issued  in  a  sweet  "  sense  of  the  glorious  majesty  and 
grace  of  God" — a  feeling  that  added  a  strange  charm  to  ex- 
ternal nature.  "The  appearance  of  every  thing,"  he  says,  "was 
altered.  There  seemed  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  calm,  sweet  cast, 
or  appearance  of  divine  glory,  in  almost  every  thing." 

After  graduating,  he  spent  nearly  two  years  at  the  college 
in  theological  study.  At  the  age  of  nineteen  he  was  licensed 
to  preach  the  gospel,  and  sent  to  New  York  to  minister  to 
a  small  congregation  of  Presbyterians.  Though  he  filled  the 
pulpit  with  great  acceptance,  the  relation  did  not  become  per- 
manent, and  in  1723  he  was  elected  tutor  in  Yale  College.  At 
this  time  the  office  of  tutor  was  a  trying  position,  and  it  is  a 
significant  fact  that  a  year  later  he  wrote:  "I  have  now  abun- 
dant reason  to  be  convinced  of  the  troublesomeness  and  vex- 
ation of  the  world,  and  that  it  never  will  be  another  kind  of  a 
world."  But  such  was  his  skill  in  discipline  and  success  in 
instruction,  that  President  Stiles  spoke  of  him  and  his  associ- 
ates as  "  the  pillar  tutors,  and  the  glory  of  the  college  at  this 
critical  period." 

In  his  twentieth  year,  and  just  before  entering  upon  his 
tutorship,  he  drew  up  seventy  resolutions  for  the  government 
of  his  heart  and  life.  Though  they  are  tinged  with  a  Puritan 
austerity,  and  unduly  accentuate,  perhaps,  the  religious  ele- 
ment of  life,  they  reveal  an  extraordinary  depth  and  earnest- 
ness of  character. 


54  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

In  1726  Jonathan  Edwards  was  called  as  pastor  to  North- 
ampton, where  the  next  twenty-four  years  of  his  life  were  passed. 
The  following  year  he  was  married  to  Miss  Pierrepont  of  New 
Haven,  a  lady  who  added  to  unusual  intellectual  gifts  and  at- 
tainments an  executive  ability  and  considerate  sympathy  that 
fitted  her  in  an  eminent  degree  to  be  the  helpmate  of  her  hus- 
band. She  relieved  him  entirely  of  domestic  cares.  There  is 
a  tradition  that  he  did  not  know  his  own  cows.  Though  his 
constant  inattention  to  the  concerns  of  his  household  hardly 
rendered  him  a  model  husband,  he  gave  himself  with  all  the 
more  devotion  to  his  sermons  and  theological  studies.  He 
regularly  spent  thirteen  hours  a  day  in  his  study;  and  when 
out  for  recreation,  which  was  usually  on  horseback,  he  carried 
pen  and  paper  with  him  to  note  down  such  valuable  thoughts 
as  might  occur  to  him.  In  order  to  keep  up  the  necessary 
physical  strength  for  his  great  intellectual  labors,  he  was  care- 
ful to  take  regular  exercise,  and  observed  the  strictest  temper- 
ance in  eating  and  drinking.  He  was  exceedingly  thorough  in 
his  methods  of  study.  He  could  never  be  satisfied  with  hasty 
or  superficial  work ;  and  as  we  read  his  sermons  and  numerous 
volumes,  his  clearness  of  view,  his  power  of  analysis,  and  his 
irresistible  cogency  of  reasoning,  afford  continual  astonishment 
and  pleasure. 

Among  the  many  able  preachers  of  America,  he  stands  as 
one  of  the  greatest.  He  dwelt  habitually  on  the  weightiest 
doctrines  of  the  Christian  faith;  and  in  his  treatment  of  them 
there  is  a  Miltonic  grasp  of  thought  and  vigor  of  language. 
He  was  not  eloquent  in  manner  or  expression;  his  voice  was 
weak,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  closely  fixed  on  his  manuscript; 
but  such  was  his  overpowering  spiritual  earnestness  that  his 
sermons  were  sometimes  startling  in  their  effect.  When  he 
preached  his  famous  sermon,  "Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an 
Angry  God,"  the  feelings  of  his  audience  deepened  into  an 
insupportable  agony;  and  at  last  the  cry  burst  forth,  "What 
must  we  do  to  be  saved?  "  In  those  days  people  did  not  go  to 
church  to  be  entertained;  and  with  an  endurance  that  seems 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS.  55 

almost  incredible  now,  they  listened,  with  unflagging  attention> 
to  closely  reasoned  sermons  two  hours  long.  It  was  for  audi- 
ences of  this  kind  that  the  sermons  of  Edwards  were  prepared; 
and  to  such  persons  as  take  them  up  with  sufficient  determina- 
tion, and  are  able  to  appreciate  their  powerful  reasoning,  they 
appear  veritable  masterpieces. 

Under  his  preaching  in  1735  there  began  at  Northampton  a 
new  interest  in  religion,  which  afterwards  extending  throughout 
the  American  colonies  has  been  known  as  the  "Great  Awak- 
ening." The  celebrated  Whitefield  contributed  much  to  this 
revival.  Though  attended  at  times  with  great  excitement  and 
extravagance,  this  movement  upon  the  whole  seems  to  have 
been  helpful  to  morality  and  piety.  It  was  in  this  connection 
that  Edwards  wrote  "  Some  Thoughts  concerning  the  Present 
Revival  of  Religion  in  New  England"  —  a  work  of  such  spir- 
itual discernment,  practical  wisdom,  and  conservative  judg- 
ment, that  it  has  since  been  regarded  as  an  authority  on  the 
subject.  He  was  not  friendly  to  the  fanatical  tendencies  some- 
times exhibited  during  the  "Great  Awakening;  "  and  in  order 
to  distinguish  between  the  true  and  the  false  evidences  of  a 
Christian  life,  he  wrote  his  "Treatise  concerning  the  Religious 
Affections."  Though  defective  in  style,  as  indeed  are  all  his 
works,  it  occupies  a  very  high  rank  as  a  treatise  on  practical 
religion. 

For  nearly  twenty  years  Jonathan  Edwards  had  a  firm  hold 
upon  the  affections  of  his  people.  Then  there  came  a  reac- 
tion, which  finally  resulted  in  his  being  ejected  from  his  pasto- 
ral charge.  Contrary  to  the  prevailing  custom  at  Northampton 
and  in  other  parts  of  New  England,  he  maintained  that  only 
consistent  Christians  should  be  admitted  to  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per. A  bitter  controversy  followed.  Though  contending  with 
heroic  courage  for  what  he  believed  to  be  right,  he  constantly 
exhibited  the  beauty  of  a  meek  and  forgiving  spirit.  He  was 
finally  forced  to  resign  in  1750. 

In  1751  he  was  called  to  Stockbridge,  forty  miles  west  of 
Northampton,  to  serve  as  pastor  to  a  congregation  there,  and 


56  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

at  the  same  time  to  act  as  missionary  to  a  tribe  of  Indians 
in  the  vicinity.  The  congregation  was  small,  and  the  work 
among  the  Indians  unpromising.  It  was  a  field  that  especially 
required  persistent  personal  work.  Confirmed,  as  he  was,  in 
retiring  and  studious  habits,  it  is  not  strange  that,  in  spite  of 
his  faithful  preaching,  he  was  unsuccessful  as  a  missionary. 
But  among  the  unfavorable  surroundings  of  a  frontier  settle- 
ment, he  continued  his  literary  labors,  and  composed  his  ablest 
works. 

In  1754  appeared  his  famous  treatise  entitled  "Inquiry  into 
the  Freedom  of  the  Will."  It  is  his  greatest  work,  the  argu- 
ment of  which  he  had  been  slowly  elaborating  for  years.  It 
placed  him  at  once,  not  only  at  the  head  of  American  writers, 
but  among  the  world's  profoundest  thinkers.  "On  the  arena 
of  metaphysics,"  says  the  great  Dr.  Chalmers,  "he  stood  the 
highest  of  all  his  contemporaries,  and  that,  too,  at  a  time  when 
Hume  was  aiming  his  deadliest  thrusts  at  the  foundations  of 
morality,  and  had  thrown  over  the  infidel  cause  the  whole  eclat 
of  his  reputation."  According  to  the  judgment  of  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  "  In  the  power  of  subtile  argument,  he  was,  per- 
haps, unmatched,  certainly  unsurpassed  among  men."  Among 
his  other  works  published  while  he  was  at  Stockbridge  are  "A 
Dissertation  on  the  Nature  of  True  Virtue,"  and  a  treatise  on 
"Original  Sin." 

In  1758  he  was  called  to  the  presidency  of  the  College  of 
New  Jersey,  a  position  which  he  accepted  with  hesitancy  and 
misgivings.  He  questioned  his  natural  aptitude  for  the  office, 
and  hesitated  to  assume  duties  that  would  interfere  with  the 
studious  habits  of  his  life.  In  a  letter  to  the  trustees,  in  which 
he  speaks  with  great  frankness,  he  furnishes  some  interesting 
facts  about  his  manner  of  life.  "My  method  of  study,"  he 
says,  "from  my  first  beginning  the  work  of  the  ministry,  has 
been  very  much  by  writing  ;  applying  myself,  in  this  way,  to 
improve  every  important  hint ;  pursuing  the  clue  to  my  utmost, 
when  any  thing  in  reading,  meditation,  or  conversation,  has 
been  suggested  to  my  mind,  that  seemed  to  promise  light  in 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS.  57 

any  weighty  point;  thus  penning  what  appeared  to  me  my  best 
thoughts,  on  innumerable  subjects,  for  my  own  benefit."  In 
the  same  letter  he  speaks  of  a  great  work  that  he  had  on  his 
"mind  and  heart  ;"  namely,  his  "  History  of  the  Work  of  Re- 
demption." 

The  plan,  as  he  outlines  it,  reminds  us  of  Milton  and 
Dante.  "This  history,"  he  says,  "will  be  carried  on  with 
regard  to  all  three  worlds,  heaven,  earth,  and  hell ;  consider- 
ing the  connected,  successive  events  and  alterations  in  each, 
so  far  as  the  Scriptures  give  any  light;  introducing  all  parts  of 
divinity  in  that  order  which  is  most  Scriptural  and  most  natu- 
ral, a  method  which  appears  to  me  the  most  beautiful  and  en- 
tertaining, wherein  every  divine  doctrine  will  appear  to  the 
greatest  advantage,  in  the  brightest  light,  and  in  the  most 
striking  manner,  showing  the  admirable  contexture  and  har- 
mony of  the  whole."  This  work,  so  grandly  outlined,  was  left 
unfinished  at  his  death;  but  the  manuscript  sermons,  which 
formed  the  basis  of  it,  were  reduced  to  the  form  of  a  treatise 
by  his  friend  Dr.  Erskine  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  work,  which 
has  had  a  wide  circulation,  first  appeared  in  that  city  in  1777. 

He  was  inaugurated  as  president  of  the  College  of  New 
Jersey  in  1758,  but  performed  the  duties  of  his  office  less  than 
five  weeks.  The  smallpox  having  made  its  appearance  in 
Princeton,  he  deemed  it  advisable  to  be  inoculated.  At  that 
time  inoculation  was  regarded  as  a  more  serious  thing  than  at 
present.  The  trustees  were  consulted,  and  gave  their  consent. 
A  skilful  physician  was  engaged  to  come  from  Philadelphia  to 
perform  the  operation;  but  in  spite  of  all  precautions,  the  in- 
oculation terminated  fatally.  He  died  March  22,  1758,  in  the 
fifty-fifth  year  of  his  age.  In  his  last  hours  he  retained  the 
beautiful  faith  and  resignation  that  had  characterized  his 
active  life.  Shortly  before  he  expired,  some  friends,  not 
thinking  that  he  heard  them,  were  lamenting  the  loss  that  his 
death  would  bring  to  the  college  and  the  church.  Interrupting 
them  he  said,  "Trust  in  God,  and  ye  need  not  fear."  These 
were  his  last  words. 


58  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"Other  men  have,  do  doubt,  excelled  him  in  particular 
qualities  or  accomplishments.  There  have  been  far  more 
learned  men;  far  more  eloquent  men;  far  more  enterprising 
and  active  men,  in  the  out-door  work  of  the  sacred  office.  But, 
in  the  assemblage  and  happy  union  of  those  high  qualities, 
intellectual  and  moral,  which  constitute  finished  excellence, 
as  a  man,  a  Christian,  a  divine,  and  a  philosopher,  he  was,  un- 
doubtedly, one  of  the  greatest  and  best  men  that  have  adorned 
this,  or  any  other  country,  since  the  Apostolic  age."  l 

1  Miller,  Life  of  Jonathan  Edwards,  p.  213. 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD. 

REPRESENTATIVE   WRITERS. 

THOMAS   JEFFERSON.         ALEXANDER    HAMILTON. 

OTHER    WRITERS 

CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN  (1771-1810).  Was  the  first  American  nov- 
elist. He  wrote  "  Wieland,"  "  Ormond,"  and  "  Arthur  Mervyn."  He 
was  the  first  of  our  authors  to  make  a  living  out  of  literature. 

JOHN  TRUMBULL  (1750-1831).  Wrote  "McFingal,"  a  satire  upon  the 
Tories  in  the  manner  of  Butler's  "  Hudibras." 

JOEL  BARLOW  (1754-1812).  Wrote  the  "  Columbiad,"  a  very  dull  epic. 
His  "  Hasty  Pudding  "  is  still  readable. 

FRANCIS  HOPKINSON  (1737-1791).  Wrote  the  most  popular  ballad  of  the 
Revolution,  entitled  the  "  Battle  of  the  Kegs." 

PHILIP  FRENEAU  (1752-1832).  Poet,  editor,  and  political  writer.  His  two 
best  poems  are  "  Lines  to  a  Wild  Honeysuckle "  and  "  The  Indian 
Burying-Ground." 

TIMOTHY  DWIGHT  (1752-1817).  President  of  Yale  College  from  1795  to 
the  time  of  his  death.  A  theologian  whose  works  are  still  instructive. 
He  wrote  the  hymn  "  I  love  thy  Kingdom,  Lord,"  and  the  patriotic 
song,  "  Columbia,  Columbia,  to  Glory  Arise." 

JOSEPH  HOPKINSON  (1770-1842).    Wrote  "Hail  Columbia." 

THOMAS  PAINE  (1737-1809).  Author  of  "  Common  Sense,"  a  patriotic 
pamphlet,  "  The  Rights  of  Man,"  a  defence  of  the  French  Revolution, 
and  "  The  Age  of  Reason,"  a  coarse  attack  upon  Christianity. 

JAMES  MADISON  (1751-1836)  and  JOHN  ADAMS  (1735-1826)  were  great 
statesmen  and  able  political  writers.  The  former  wa£  one  of  the 
writers  of  the  "  P'ederalist,"  and  the  latter  wrote  an  elaborate  "  Defence 
of  the  Constitutions  of  Government  of  the  United  States." 

JOHN  MARSHALL  (1755-1835).  Statesman  and  Chief-Justice  of  the  United 
States.  He  wrote  a  standard  "  Life  of  Washington." 

WILLIAM  WIRT  (1772-1834).     Lawyer  and  politician.    He  wrote  "  Letters 
of  a  British  Spy,"  and  a  "  Life  of  Patrick  Henry." 
59 


III. 

THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD. 
I  (1763-1815.) 

THE  Revolutionary  Period  embraces  about  fifty  years, 
3  and  includes  two  events  of  great  importance.  The  first 
of  these  is  theJ  War  of  Independence  ;  the  other,  the  adop- 
tion of  the  Constitution.  Around  these  two  events  gathers 
nearly  all  the  literature  of  the  time.  This  literature  can 
be  understood  only  as  we  comprehend  the  spirit  and  prin- 
f  /  ciples  of  the  founders  of  our  republic.  No  other  period 
better  illustrates  the  relation  of  literature  to  prevailing  so- 
cial conditions.  For  half  a  century  the  struggle  against 
British  injustice  and  oppression,  and  the  establishment  of 
a  great  national  government,  absorbed  a  large  part  of  the 
intellectual  energies  of  the  people.  Great  practical  ques- 
tions were  pressing  for  solution.  It  was  the  age  of  politi- 
cal pamphlets  and  popular  oratory.  The  literature  of  the 
time  arose,  not  to  enrich  the  treasures  of  artistic  expression, 
but  to  mould  and  move  popular  thought  and  action. 

The  leaders  of  the  revolutionary  movement  were  heroes. 
We  cannot  peruse  their  determined  and  often  eloquent 
words  without  being  moved  with  admiration.  There  is 
an  ardor  in  them  that  kindles  anew  the  spirit  of  freedom. 
The  deliberate  and  resolute  courage  of  the  Revolutionary 
patriots  has  never  been  surpassed.  True  to  the  spirit  of 
their  forefathers,  who  had  sought  refuge  from  oppression 
61 


62  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

in  the  wilds  of  a  new  continent,  they  were  bravely  jealous 
of  their  liberties.  With  Anglo-Saxon  fidelity  they  were 
loyal  to  England  until  repeated  and  inexcusable  acts  of 
tyranny  drove  them  into  resistance.  It  was  only  when 
the  hope  of  receiving  justice  from  the  mother  country  had 
completely  died  out,  that  the  desire  and  purpose  of  inde- 
pendence arose. 

7  The  general  cause  of  the  Revolution  was  the  stupid 
and  tyrannical  claim  of  the  British  government  "  to  bind 
the  colonies  in  all  things  whatsoever."  The  fatal  course 

£  of  George  III.  and  of  his  ministers  may  be  best  explained 
as  a  madness  sent  from  heaven,  like  the  hardening  of 
Pharaoh's  heart,  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  coming  of  a 
great  nation.  For  many  years  the  British  king,  supported 
by  Parliament,  had  pursued  a  policy  of  usurpation  and  tyr- 
anny. The  list  of  grievances  in  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, where  each  statement  points  to  a  particular 
fact,  makes  up  a  terrific  indictment.  Jefferson  was  only 
faithful  to  facts  when  he  declared,  "The  history  of  the 
present  king  of  Great  Britain  is  a  history  of  unremitting 
injuries  and  usurpations,  among  which  appears  no  solitary 
fact  to  contradict  the  uniform  tenor  of  the  rest,  but  all 
have  in  direct  object  the  establishment  of  an  absolute 
tyranny  over  these  states."  The  petitions  and  remon- 
strances of  the  colonists  remained  unnoticed.  The  king 
demanded  absolute  and  abject  submission. 

But  it  was  impossible  that  the  people  of  America 
should  become  a  race  of  slaves.  Liberty  was  a  part  of 
their  inheritance  as  Englishmen.  They  cherished  the 

v  memory  of  Magna  Charta  and  the  Bill  of  Rights  of  1689. 
The  tragic  fate  of  Charles  I.,  brought  to  the  block  for  his 
tyranny,  was  not  forgotten.  The  hardships  and  dangers 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD.  63 

connected  with  the  subjugation  of  an  untamed  continent 
had  served  to  develop  their  native  strength,  courage,  and 
independence.  They  were  the  last- people  in  the  world 
tamely  to  submit  to  oppression  and  wrong.  They  main- 
tained that,  by  nature  as  well  as  by  common  law,  the 
right  of  taxation  rests  with  the  people.  To  take  their 
property  by  taxation  without  their  consent  was  justly  held 
to  be  tyranny.  When,  in  violation  of  this  fundamental 
principle  of  civil  liberty,  the  British  government  persisted 
in  the  claim  to  tax  the  colonies  at  pleasure,  the  inevitable 
result  was  united  and  resolute  resistance. 

The  necessities  of  the  times  produced  a  generation  of 
political  thinkers  and  writers.  The  Continental  Congress 
\'l -of  1774,  which  included  among  its  members  Washington, 
Jefferson,  Franklin,  and  Adams,  was  one  of  extraordinary 
ability.  No  abler  legislative  body  ever  came  together. 
The  leaders  of  popular  thought  were  forced  to  reflect  upon 
the  fundamental  principles  of  government.  The  result 
was  a  clearness  of  vision  in  relation  to  human  rights  that 
is  almost  without  parallel.  The  discussions  and  state 
papers  of  the  time  have  extorted  praise  from  the  ablest 
European  statesmen.  Many  of  the  speeches  of  the  time 
possess  an  eloquence  that  compares  favorably  with  the 
highest  oratory  of  either  ancient  or  modern  times.  While 
the  belles-lettres  literature  of  the  Revolutionary  Period  is 
insignificant  in  both  quantity  and  quality,  no  more  inter- 
esting or  important  body  of  political  literature  was  ever 
brought  together  in  the  same  space  of  time.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  mention  only  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the 
Constitution,  and  "The  Federalist." 

In  the  beginning  of  the  revolutionary  movement,  the 
people  of  America  did  not  aim  at  independence.  They 


64  AMERICAN  LITERA  TURE. 

were  loyal  to  England.  At  first  their  object  was  simply 
to  correct  the  injustice  done  them  by  the  British  govern- 
ment. Their  petitions  were  accompanied  with  sincere  pro- 
fessions of  loyalty  to  the  British  crown.  But  the  spirit 
of  independence  imperceptibly  gained  in  strength.  At 
last,  as  the  conflict  deepened,  separation  from  Great  Brit- 
ain became  inevitable.  Submission  and  reconciliation  were 
no  longer  possible.  On  the  4th  of  July,  1776,  the  rep- 
resentatives of  the  colonies,  in  Congress  assembled,  issued 
their  sublime  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  America 
entered  upon  its  career  of  grandeur  and  freedom. 

ThQ  Americans  based  the  justice  of  their  cause  on  two 
grounds  :  first,  their  rights  as  Englishmen  ;  and  second,, 
their  natural  rights  as  men.  Since  the  days  of  the  Great 
Charter,  the  king  had  been  denied  the  right  of  imposing 
taxes  at  pleasure.  The  attempt  to  do  so  was  an  act  of 
tyranny  that  had  already  cost  one  king  his  head.  The 
colonies  maintained  that  they  were  not  under  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  Parliament.  They  were  not  represented  in  that 
body.  The  right  of  taxation  rested  only  with  their  own 
popular  assemblies.  The  effort  of  Parliament  to  impose 
taxes  upon  them  was,  therefore,  an  evident  usurpation  of 
authority. 

But  the  American  colonists  went  farther  than  a  de- 
fence of  their  rights  under  the  constitution  and  common 
law  of  England.  They  appealed  to  their  natural  rights  as 
men.  "Among  the  natural  rights  of  the  colonists,"  wrote 
Samuel  Adams  in  1772,  "  are  these  :  First,  a  right  to  life  ; 
secondly,  to  liberty ;  thirdly,  to  property  —  together  with 
the  right  to  support  and  defend  them  in  the  best  manner 
they  can."  In  the  Declaration  of  Independence  the  same 
appeal  is  made  to  fundamental  natural  principles. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD.  65 

/(The  happy  issue  of  the  Revolution  in  1783  settled 
forever  the  questions  which  related  to  British  oppression, 
and  which  for  twenty  years  had  so  largely  occupied  the 
thought  of  Americans.  Then  followed  an  era  of  discus- 
sion in  relation  to  the  form  and  powers  of  the  national 
government.  During  the  Revolution  there  had  been 
no  central  power.  Under  the^Articles  of  Confederation 
adopted  in  1778,  the  colonies  were  organized  into  a  loose 
confederacy.  Congress  was  narrowly  restricted  in  its 
powers,  and  the  ratification  of  nine  States  was  necessary 
to  complete  an  act  of  legislation.  "  The  fundamental  de- 
fect of  the  Confederation,"  says  Jefferson,  "was  that  Con- 
gress was  not  authorized  to  act  immediately  on  the  people, 
and  by  its  own  officers.  Their  power  was  only  requisi- 
tory  ;  and  these  requisitions  were  addressed  to  the  several 
legislatures,  to  be  by  them  carried  into  execution,  with- 
out other  coercion  than  the  moral  principle  of  duty.  This 
allowed,  in  fact,  a  negative  to  every  legislature,  on  every 
measure  proposed  by  Congress  ;  a  negative  so  frequently 
exercised  in  practice,  as  to  benumb  the  action  of  the  Fed- 
eral government,  and  to  render  it  inefficient  in  its  general 
objects,  and  more  especially  in  pecuniary  and  foreign  con- 
cerns." During  the  continuance  of  the  Revolution,  the 
sense  of  common  danger  naturally  held  the  colonies  to- 
gether. The  requisitions  of  Congress  were  generally  com- 
plied with.  But  after  the  war,  the  country  fell  into  great 
disorder  and  distress,  and  the  inadequacy  of  the  Confede- 
ration became  generally  apparent. 

Accordingly,  in  1787,  a  general  convention  was  held 
in  Philadelphia  to  revise  the"^Articles  of  Confederation. 
Washington  was  chosen  president.  A  committee  of  revis- 
ion submitted  as  its  report  the  first  draft  of  the  present 


66  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Constitution  of  the  United  States.  The  discussions,  which 
were  secret,  lasted  for  several  months ;  and  in  view  of  con- 
flicting opinions  and  interests,  the  convention  was  several 
times  on  the  point  of  giving  up  in  despair.  The  nation 
trembled  on  the  brink  of  dissolution  and  ruin.  But  in 
each  instance  further  deliberation  resulted  in  compromise 
and  agreement.  When  completed,  the  Constitution  did 
not  wholly  satisfy  any  one  ;  it  was  unanimously  accepted, 
however,  as  the  best  result  attainable  under  the  circum- 
stances. It  remedied  the  obvious  defects  of  the  Articles 
of  Confederation.  It  established  a  national  government 
with  legislative,  executive,  and  judicial  departments  ;  and 
the  results  thus  far  have  justified  the  judgment  of  Glad- 
stone, that  it  is  "  the  most  wonderful  work  ever  struck  off 
at  a  given  time  by  the  brain  and  purpose  of  man." 

After  the  completion  of  the  work  of  the  convention, 
the  Constitution  came  before  the  people  of  the  several 
States  for  ratification  or  rejection.  For  the  first  time  the 
American  people  were  divided  into  two  great  parties.  All 
local  differences  were  swallowed  up  in  the  larger  issue 
relating  to  the  national  government.  Those  who  favored 
the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  were  known  as  Federal- 
ists ;  those  who  opposed  it  were  called  Anti-Federalists. 
Political  feeling  ran  high.  The  question  of  ratification 
was  discussed  in  the  newspaper  and  debated  in  the  public 
assembly.  Party  opinion  was  sometimes  emphasized  by 
mob  violence.  In  New  York  the  leader  of  the  Anti-Fed- 
eralists was  Governor  Clinton.  The  leader  on  the  oppo- 
site side  was  Hamilton,  who,  in  co-operation  with  Madison 
and  Jay,  largely  influenced  popular  sentiment  by  the  series 
of  powerful  essays  known  collectively  as  "The  Federalist." 
In  Virginia,  Patrick  Henry  used  all  his  influence  and  elo- 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD.  6/ 

quence  to  prevent  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  ;  but 
he  was  successfully  opposed  by  Edmund  Randolph,  gov- 
ernor of  the  State. 

The  general  ground  of  opposition  lay,  first,  in  dislike 
of  a  strong  national  government ;  and  secondly,  in  the 
absence  of  sufficient  guarantees  (since  supplied  by  amend- 
ments) to  secure  the  liberties  of  the  people.  The  reasons 
in  favor  of  adoption  are  succinctly  stated  in  the  preamble 
of  the  Constitution  itself  :  namely,  "  to  form  a  more  per- 
fect union,  establish  justice,  ensure  domestic  tranquillity, 
provide  for  the  common  defence,  promote  the  general  wel- 
fare, and  secure  the  blessings  of  liberty  to  ourselves  and 
our  posterity." 

In  spite  of  the  strong  feeling  against  the  Constitution, 
it  was  ratified  by  eleven  States  before  the  end  of  1788. 
The  following  year  the  new  government  was  inaugurated, 
with  Washington  as  the  unanimous  choice  of  the  people 
for  president.  There  remained,  however,  many  perplex- 
ing questions  to  be  settled.  The  financial  policy  of  the 
government ;  the  relations  of  the  United  States  with 
foreign  powers;  the  acquisition  of -new  territory — these 
were  some  of  the  questions  that  engaged  the  attention 
of  thoughtful  minds.  In  1812  it  again  became  necessary 
to  meet  British  insolence  and  aggression  by  force.  The 
ground  of  hostilities  was  compressed  into  the  rallying  cry 
of  "  Free  trade  and  sailors'  rights."  In  a  conflict  lasting 
more  than  two  years,  England  was  again  defeated.  With 
the  happy  solution  of  all  these  problems,  and  the  rapid 
development  in  population  and  wealth,  the  United  States 
at  last  assumed  an  honorable  place  among  the  great  family 
of  nations. 

Such  were  the  prevailing  influences  controlling  litera- 


68  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ture  during  the  Revolutionary  Period.  It  would  be  a  mis- 
take, however,  to  suppose  that  the  entire  literary  activity 
of  the  country  was  confined  to  popular  oratory,  political 
pamphlets,  and  official  documents.  Theology  was  not  en- 
tirely neglected;  and  Timothy  Dwight's  "Theology  Ex- 
plained and  Defended,"  in  a  series  of  sermons,  was  a 
standard  in  its  day,  and  may  still  be  studied  with  profit. 
The  mighty  influences  at  work  naturally  sought  an  auxil- 
iary in  poetry.  Accordingly,  we  find  a  large  number  of 
satires,  more  or  less  extended,  many  popular  ballads, 
mostly  crude  in  composition,  and  at  least  one  pretentious 
epic,  so  stately  and  tedious  that  it  is  never  read.  Here 
and  there  we  find  a  poem  or  other  literary  production 
independent  of  the  political  controversies  of  the  time. 
Such  is  Philip  Freneau's  "  The  Wild  Honeysuckle : "  - 


"  Fair  flower,  that  dost  so  comely  grow, 

Hid  in  this  silent,  dull  retreat, 
Untouched  thy  honey'd  blossoms  blow, 
Unseen  thy  little  branches  greet; 
No  roving  foot  shall  find  thee  here, 
No  busy  hand  provoke  a  tear." 


Here  should  be  mentioned  also  the  works  of  Charles 
Brockden  Brown,  who  has  the  credit  of  first  introducing 
fiction  into  American  literature. 

The  principal  satire  of  the  period  is  John  TrumbuU's 
"  McFingal,"  which  was  undertaken,  as  he  tells  us,  "  with 
a  political  view,  at  the  instigation  of  some  leading  mem- 
bers of  the  first  Congress,"  and  was  published  in  part  in 
Philadelphia  in  1775.  It  is  written  in  imitation  of  But- 
ler's "  Hudibras,"  and  does  not  suffer  in  comparison  with 
that  famous  satire  upon  the  Puritans  of  England.  Some 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD.  69 

of  its  lines  are  easily  mistaken  for  Butler's,  and  have  been 
so  quoted  ;  for  example  :  — 

"A  thief  ne'er  felt  the  halter  draw 
With  good  opinion  of  the  law." 

Or  this,  — 

"  For  any  man  with  half  an  eye 
What  stands  before  him  may  espy ; 
But  optics  sharp  it  needs,  I  ween, 
To  see  what  is  not  to  be  seen." 

Trumbull  does  not  always  spare  his  countrymen.  In 
the  following  lines  there  is  a  very  good  hit  at  slavery. 
After  describing  the  erection  of  a  liberty-pole,  he  con- 
tinues :  — 

"  And  on  its  top,  the  flag  unfurled 
Waved  triumph  o'er  the  gazing  world, 
Inscribed  with  inconsistent  types 
Of  liberty  and  thirteen  stripes." 

The  hero  McFingal  is  a  Tory  squire,  who  in  resisting 
the  Whigs  comes  to  grief,  and  suffers  the  peculiar  revolu- 
tionary punishment  of  tar  and  feathers. 

"  Yankee  Doodle  "  belongs  to  this  period.  The  tune 
is  an  old  one ;  and  the  hero  himself,  who  had  previously 
figured  in  Holland  and  England,  may  be  regarded  as 
American  only  by  adoption.  The  song  was  first  used  in 
derision  of  the  motley  troops  of  the  colonies  ;  but  like 
many  another  term  of  reproach,  Yankee  Doodle  was  taken 
up  by  the  American  soldiery,  and  made  a  designation  of 
honor.  The  first  complete  set  of  words  appears  to  date 
from  1775,  and  is  entitled  "The  Yankee's  Return  from 
Camp." 

"  Father  and  I  went  down  to  camp 

Along  with  Captain  Gooding ; 
And  there  we  see  the  men  and  boys 
As  thick  as  hasty-pudding." 


70  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

In  1807  "The  Columbiad,"  an  epic  poem  in  ten  books, 
by  Joel  Barlow,  made  its  appearance  in  a  sumptuous  edi- 
tion. It  is  our  first  epic  poem,  and  this  fact  constitutes 
its  principal  claim  upon  our  attention.  The  plan  of  the 
work  is  very  simple.  While  Columbus  is  lying  in  prison, 
the  victim  of  his  country's  ingratitude,  Hesper  appears, 
and  conducts  him  to  the  "  hill  of  vision  "  commanding  the 
western  continent.  Here  the  celestial  visitant  unfolds  to 
the  great  discoverer  the  history  of  America,  including  the 
conquest  of  Mexico  by  Cortez,  the  establishment  of  the 
English  colonies,  the  French  and  Indian  War,  and  the  Rev- 
olution. Last  of  all,  "  the  progress  and  influences  of  mod- 
ern art  and  science  are  pointed  out,  the  advantages  of 
the  federal  government,  and  of  a  larger  confederation  of 
nations,  with  an  assimilation  and  unity  of  language ;  an 
abandonment  of  war,  and  a  final  blaze  of  rockets  over  the 
emancipation  of  the  world  from  prejudice,  and  a  general 
millennium  of  philosophic  joy  and  freedom." 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

Do  great  epochs  make  great  men,  or  do  great  men  make 
great  epochs  ?  This  question  has  often  been  discussed;  and 
the  consideration  of  every  important  era  is  likely  to  start  it 
afresh.  Neither  question  is  true  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other. 
Great  epochs  and  great  men  go  together,  each  exerting  an  in- 
fluence upon  the  other.  In  a  nation,  as  in  an  individual, 
there  is  usually  a  large  amount  of  ability  unutilized.  Under 
ordinary  conditions  it  lies  latent.  When  there  comes  that 
conflict  of  ideas,  and  often  of  physical  force,  which  marks  a 
new  stage  in  human  progress,  the  latent  energies  of  the  people 
are  roused  to  action:  great  men  rise  to  meet  the  responsibili- 
ties and  to  seize  the  opportunities  presented  to  them.  They 
often  succeed  in  directing  or  controlling  the  new  movement, 
and  out  of  chaos  they  bring  forth  order  and  beauty. 

Among  the  great  men  developed  and  brought  into  promi- 
nence by  the  conflict  with  Great  Britain,  a  very  high  place 
must  be  assigned  to  Thomas  Jefferson.  After  Washington, 
whom  a  grateful  country  has  invested  with  an  almost  ideal 
beauty,  he  must  be  ranked  with  Adams,  Franklin,  and  Hamil- 
ton, as  one  of  the  founders  of  our  republic.  Among  the  many 
distinguished  sons  whom  Virginia  has  given  to  America,  Jef- 
ferson stands  very  close  after  "  the  father  of  his  country. " 
His  labors  in  the  Legislature  of  Virginia,  in  the  Continental 
Congress,  and  afterwards  in  the  president's  chair,  displayed 
the  wisdom  and  the  patriotism  of  a  great  statesman. 

Thomas  Jefferson  was  born  in  Albemarle  County,  April  2, 
1743.  His  father,  who  was  of  Welsh  descent,  was  a  man  of 
no  great  learning,  but  of  excellent  judgment  and  great  physi- 
cal strength.  His  mother,  who  was  a  Randolph,  belonged  to 


72  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

one  of  the  most  distinguished  Virginia  families.  The  Ran- 
dolphs traced  their  pedigree  to  noble  families  in  England  and 
Scotland  —  a  fact  "to  which,"  says  Jefferson  in  his  "Auto- 
biography," "let  every  one  ascribe  the  faith  and  merit  he 
chooses."  Considering  the  mental  and  physical  traits  of  his 
father  and  mother,  we  see  that  Jefferson  was  fortunate  in  his 
parentage. 

After  an  excellent  preparatory  training,  including  English, 
French,  Latin,  and  Greek,  Jefferson  entered  William  and 
Mary  College,  which  was  generally  patronized  at  that  time  by 
the  aristocratic  families  of  Virginia.  He  was  a  diligent  stu- 
dent, often  working,  as  he  tells  us,  fifteen  hours  a  day.  He 
united  a  decided  taste  for  both  mathematics  and  the  classics. 
He  had  little  taste  for  fiction,  and  it  is  said  that  "Don  Qui- 
xote "  is  the  only  novel  he  ever  keenly  relished  or  read  a  sec- 
ond time.  He  delighted  in  poetry,  and  read  Homer,  Horace, 
Tasso,  Moliere,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Pope.  For  a  time 
he  was  extravagantly  fond  of  Ossian,  and  "was  not  ashamed 
to  own  that  he  thought  this  rude  bard  of  the  North  the  great- 
est poet  that  had  ever  existed."  But  many  years  before  his 
death  he  formed  a  juster  estimate  of  Macpherson's  forgeries. 
He  took  no  interest  in  metaphysical  studies,  and  frequently 
expressed  "unmitigated  contempt  for  Plato  and  his  writings." 

While  in  Williamsburg,  at  that  time  the  capital  of  the 
State,  Jefferson  became  a  law  student  under  George  Wythe, 
one  of  the  ablest  and  purest  lawyers  Virginia  has  produced. 
He  won  the  favor  of  Governor  Fauquier,  at  whose  table  he 
was  a  frequent  guest.  "With  him,"  Jefferson  writes,  "Dr. 
Small  and  Mr.  Wythe,  his  amid  omnium  horarum,  and  myself 
formed  a  partie  quarrfo,  and  to  the  habitual  conversations  on 
these  occasions  I  owed  much  instruction."  This  intimate  fel- 
lowship with  learned  and  distinguished  men  while  he  was  yet 
scarcely  out  of  his  teens,  indicates  the  presence  of  no  ordinary 
intellectual  and  social  gifts. 

In  1767,  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  Jefferson  entered  upon 
the  practice  of  law.  His  preparation  had  been  thorough,  and 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  73 

he  was  eminently  successful  from  the  start.  Though  he  was 
not,  like  his  friend  Patrick  Henry,  an  eloquent  speaker,  he  was 
a  man  of  excellent  judgment  and  untiring  industry.  While  ca- 
pable of  seizing  at  once  upon  the  strong  points  of  a  case,  he 
had  a  genius  for  details.  Nothing  can  surpass  the  minuteness 
of  his  observations,  and  the  patience  of  his  methodical  clas- 
sification. He  was  rapidly  advancing  to  a  prominent  place 
among  the  ablest  lawyers  of  Virginia,  when  the  struggle  with 
Great  Britain  called  him  to  a  wider  and  more  important  field 
of  action. 

In  1769  Jefferson  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Virginia 
House  of  Burgesses  for  his  native  county.  The  aristocratic 
class,  to  which  he  belonged  by  birth  and  association,  was  gen- 
erally conservative.  They  were  loyal  to  the  English  crown  and 
to  the  English  church.  It  speaks  forcibly  for  Jefferson's  pa- 
triotism and  for  his  noble  independence  of  character,  that  he 
threw  off  his  inherited  prejudices  and  sided  with  the  colonies. 
At  this  meeting  of  the  House  of  Burgesses  resolutions  were 
passed  boldly  declaring  that  the  right  of  levying  taxes  in  Vir- 
ginia belonged  to  themselves;  that  they  possessed  the  privi- 
lege of  petitioning  the  king  for  a  redress  of  grievances;  and 
that  the  transportation  to  England  of  persons  accused  of 
treason  in  the  colonies,  in  order  to  be  tried  there,  was  uncon- 
stitutional and  unjust.  In  advocating  these  resolutions,  Jef- 
ferson took  a  decided  and  prominent  part. 

In  1772  Jefferson  married  Mrs.  Martha  Skelton,  a  young 
widow  of  great  attractions  in  person,  mind,  and  estate.  She 
was  of  frank,  warm-hearted  disposition ;  and  "  last,  .not  least, 
she  had  already  proved  herself  a  true  daughter  of  the  Old 
Dominion  in  the  department  of  house-wifery."  She  added  to 
her  husband's  estate,  which  was  already  very  large,  about  forty 
thousand  acres  of  land  and  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  slaves. 
Thus  they  were  unembarrassed  by  those  disagreeable  domestic 
economies  that  sometimes  interfere  with  wedded  bliss;  and 
Monticello  became  as  noted  for  bounteous  hospitality  as  for 
domestic  felicity. 


74  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

In  1773  Jefferson  was  again  in  the  House  of  Burgesses. 
The  gathering  storm  became  more  threatening.  A  resolution, 
ordering  the  appointment  of  a  committee  of  correspondence 
with  the  other  colonies,  was  passed.  Jefferson  was  a  leading 
member  of  this  committee,  and  its  duties  were  promptly  and 
ably  discharged.  The  result  was  of  the  highest  importance. 
Similar  committees  were  appointed  in  the  other  colonies;  and 
thus  a  means  of  communication  was  opened  among  them,  the 
feeling  of  common  interest  was  strengthened,  and  a  general 
congress  met  the  following  year  to  consider  the  great  questions 
that  were  agitating  the  continent. 

In  1774  the  British  Parliament,  in  retaliation  for  the  famous 
"Tea  Party,"  passed  the  Boston  Port  Bill,  which  aimed  to 
deprive  that  town  of  its  foreign  trade.  When  the  news  of 
this  bill  reached  Williamsburg,  the  patriot  leaders,  Jefferson, 
Henry,  the  Lees,  and  others,  met  as  usual  for  consultation, 
and  resolved  to  take  steps  to  rouse  the  "people  from  the 
lethargy  into  which  they  had  fallen."  A  day  of  fasting  and 
prayer  was  agreed  on  as  the  best  expedient  to  accomplish  their 
object.  Accordingly,  a  resolution  was  "cooked  up,"  to  use 
Jefferson's  rather  irreverent  phrase,  "appointing  the  first  day 
of  June,  on  which  the  Port  Bill  was  to  commence,  for  a  day 
of  fasti>:g,  humiliation,  and  prayer,  to  implore  Heaven  to  avert 
from  us  the  evils  of  civil  war,  to  inspire  us  with  firmness  in 
the  support  of  our  rights,  and  to  turn  the  hearts  of  the  king 
and  parliament  to  moderation  and  justice."  The  scheme  was 
successfully  carried  through.  The  day  was  fittingly  observed; 
and  the  .effect  throughout  the  colony  was  like  an  electric 
shock,  arousing  every  man  to  a  sense  of  the  situation. 

Jefferson  was  prevented  by  illness  from  attending  the  con- 
vention which  met  several  months  later  to  elect  delegates  to 
the  first  general  congress.  But  he  forwarded  a  paper  which  he 
proposed  as  instructions  for  their  guidance.  The  paper  was 
regarded  as  too  strong  for  formal  adoption  by  the  convention ; 
but  it  was  ordered  to  be  printed  in  pamphlet  form,  under  the 
title  of  "A  Summary  View  of  the  Rights  of  British  America." 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  75 

It  is  a  production  remarkable  for  its  strong  statement  of  the 
natural  and  constitutional  rights  of  the  colonies,  and  for  a 
particular  enumeration  of  the  various  acts  of  injustice  and 
tyranny  on  the  part  of  the  British  government.  It  supplied 
principles,  facts,  and  phrases  for  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence two  years  later. 

In  June,  1775,  Jefferson  took  his  seat  in  the  Continental 
Congress.  He  was  then  thirty-two  years  old  —  the  youngest 
member  but  one  in  that  illustrious  body.  His  reputation  as 
a  writer  and  patriot  had  preceded  him,  and  he  accordingly  met 
with  a  flattering  reception.  He  now  entered  upon  that  larger 
sphere  of  action  that  closely  identified  him  for  many  years 
with  his  country's  history.  On  the  floor  of  Congress  he  spoke 
but  little,  for  he  was  neither  an  orator  nor  a  debater.  But  he 
was  so  clear  in  his  convictions,  and  so  active  in  committee 
and  in  his  personal  relations  with  his  fellow-members,  that  he 
exerted  a  strong  influence.  "  Prompt,  frank,  explicit,  and  de- 
cisive" are  the  terms  in  which  John  Adams  described  him  at 
this  period.  He  had  been  in  Congress  but  five  days  when  he 
was  appointed  on  a  committee  to  prepare  a  report  on  "  the 
causes  of  taking  up  arms  against  England."  Here,  as  in  the 
Virginia  legislature,  he  showed  himself  bold,  resolute,  and 
defiant. 

Events  of  great  importance  now  followed  one  another  in 
rapid  succession.  The  blood  shed  at  Lexington  and  Bunker 
Hill  had  thoroughly  roused  the  American  people.  Reconcil- 
iation was  recognized,  even  by  the  most  conservative,  as  no 
longer  possible.  The  colonies,  throwing  off  British  rule,  were 
organizing  independent  governments.  On  the  7th  of  June 
Richard  Henry  Lee,  acting  under  instructions  from  the  Vir- 
ginia convention,  offered  in  Congress  a  resolution  declaring 
that  the  "United  States  are,  and  of  a  right  ought  to  be,  free 
and  independent  states."  As  it  seemed  impossible  to  secure 
unanimity  of  action  at  that  time,  a  final  vote  was  postponed 
till  the  first  of  July.  Meanwhile,  a  committee,  consisting  of 
Thomas  Jefferson,  John  Adams,  Benjamin  Franklin,  Roger 


j6  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Sherman,  and  Robert  Livingston,  was  appointed  to  prepare 
a  suitable  Declaration  of  Independence.  The  preparation  of 
this  important  document  was  devolved  upon  Jefferson.  Adams 
and  Franklin  made  a  few  verbal  changes.  When  taken  up 
in  Congress,  it  was  discussed  for  two  days,  and  numerous 
changes  and  omissions  were  made.  Finally,  on  July  4,  1776, 
it  was  almost  unanimously  adopted,  and  the  foundation  of  a 
great  republic  was  laid. 

A  new  government  had  been  established  in  Virginia,  and 
Jefferson  elected  a  member  of  the  legislature.  Believing  that 
he  could  render  important  service  to  his  native  State,  where 
there  were  "many  very  vicious  points  which  urgently  required 
reformation,"  he  resigned  his  seat  in  Congress.  He  became 
once  more  a  leading  spirit  in  the  legislature  of  Virginia,  and 
carried  through  several  bills  which  changed  in  large  measure 
the  subsequent  social  condition  of  the  State.  Among  these 
was  a  bill  abolishing  the  system  of  entails,  and  another  estab- 
lishing religious  freedom,  —  one  of  the  three  great  acts  of  his 
life  for  which  he  wished  to  be  remembered. 

It  was  also  in  connection  with  a  bill  requiring  a  general 
revision  of  the  laws  that  Jefferson  proposed  his  educational 
system,  providing  for  the  establishment  of  schools  of  every 
grade.  Had  it  been  carried  out,  it  would  have  contributed 
immeasurably  to  the  intelligence  of  the  people  and  the  pros- 
perity of  the  State.  His  plan  contemplated,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "ist.  Elementary  schools,  for  all  children  generally, 
rich  and  poor.  2d.  Colleges  for  a  middle  degree  of  instruc- 
tion, calculated  for  the  common  purposes  of  life,  and  such  as 
would  be  desirable  for  all  who  were  in  easy  circumstances. 
And  3d.  An  ultimate  grade  for  teaching  the  sciences  gen- 
erally, and  in  their  highest  degree."  The  support  of  these 
schools  was  to  be  provided  for  by  general  taxation.  But  inas- 
much as  the  system  thus  threw  on  the  rich  and  aristocratic 
classes,  who  had  the  law-making  power  in  their  hands,  a  large 
part  of  the  burden  of  educating  the  poor,  it  was  never  carried 
into  effect. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  77 

It  is  beyond  the  limits  of  this  sketch  to  trace  at  any  length 
the  subsequent  public  career  of  Jefferson.  In  1779  he  was 
elected  governor  of  Virginia,  and  discharged  the  duties  of  that 
office,  at  a  difficult  period,  with  fidelity  and  ability.  In  1783 
he  was  again  elected  a  delegate  to  Congress.  The  currency  of 
the  country  coming  under  discussion,  Jefferson  proposed  the 
dollar  as  our  unit  of  account  and  payment,  and  its  subdivision 
into  dimes,  cents,  and  mills  in  the  decimal  ratio  —  the  system, 
it  is  needless  to  say,  that  was  adopted.  In  1784  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  go  to  France,  for  the  purpose  of  negotiating,  in 
connection  with  Franklin  and  Adams,  treaties  of  commerce. 
After  a  time  he  was  appointed  minister  to  the  Court  of  Ver- 
sailles, where  his  talents,  culture,  and  character  reflected  credit 
upon  his  country. 

In  1789  Jefferson  received  permission  to  return  to  this  coun- 
try. During  his  absence  the  Constitution  had  been  adopted, 
and  the  new  government  inaugurated,  with  Washington  as 
President.  Jefferson  accepted  a  place  in  the  cabinet  as  Sec- 
retary of  State.  He  reached  New  York,  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment at  that  time,  in  March,  1790.  Having  left  France  the 
first  year  of  its  Revolution,  he  was  filled  with  ardor  for  the 
natural  rights  of  man.  He  was  therefore  surprised  and  grieved 
to  find,  as  he  thought,  a  sentiment  prevailing  in  favor  of  a  con- 
solidated or  even  monarchical  form  of  government. 

This  introduces  us  to  a  new  phase  in  Jefferson's  life.  With 
immovable  convictions  in  favor  of  democratic  principles,  he 
opposed  with  all  his  might  the  tendency  to  consolidate  or 
centralize  the  federal  government.  He  became  the  recognized 
leader  of  the  party  in  favor  of  State  rights  and  a  general  gov- 
ernment of  restricted  and  carefully  defined  powers.  His  op- 
ponent in  the  cabinet  was  Alexander  Hamilton,  a  man  of 
extraordinary  ability  and  energy,  who  for  a  time  exerted  great 
influence  upon  the  policy  of  the  government.  In  spite  of 
Washington's  effort  to  preserve  harmony,  the  irreconcilable 
conflict  of  principles  between  the  Secretary  of  State  and  the 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury  degenerated  into  bitter  personal  hos- 


78  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

tility.  At  length,  in  December,  1793,  Jefferson  carried  out  his 
long-cherished  purpose  of  resigning. 

During  the  next  several  years,  Jefferson  lived  upon  his  es- 
tate at  Monticello,  engaged  in  the  agricultural  pursuits  for  which 
he  had  longed  for  many  years.  But  he  was  not  to  spend  the 
rest  of  his  life  in  retirement.  In  the  election  of  1801,  which 
was  attended  with  extraordinary  excitement  and  danger  to  the 
republic,  the  Federalists,  who  had  controlled  the  government 
for  twelve  years,  were  defeated.  Their  party  was  divided, 
and  the  Alien  and  Sedition  Laws  were  not  sustained  by  public 
sentiment.  Jefferson,  the  candidate  of  the  Republican  or  Dem- 
ocratic party,  was  chosen  President.  In  his  inaugural  address 
he  laid  down  an  admirable  summary  of  principles,  among 
which  were  "equal  and  exact  justice  to  all  men,  of  whatever 
state  or  persuasion,  religious  or  political;  peace,  commerce, 
and  honest  friendship  with  all  nations;  entangling  alliances 
with  none:  absolute  acquiescence  in  the  decisions  of  the  ma- 
jority; and  economy  in  the  public  expense  that  labor  may  be 
lightly  burdened." 

His  administration,  in  conformity  with  the  principles  he 
had  announced,  was  a  brilliant  one.  He  introduced  republi- 
can simplicity  in  place  of  the  stately  formalities  of  previous 
administrations.  He  greatly  reduced  the  public  debt;  the 
territorial  area  of  the  United  States  was  doubled ;  taxes  were 
decreased;  a  war  with  France  and  Spain  was  honorably 
averted;  the  Barbary  pirates  were  subdued;  and  the  internal 
prosperity  of  the  country  vastly  increased.  His  popularity 
became  second  only  to  that  of  Washington  himself.  He  was 
accordingly  re-elected  for  a  second  term,  throughout  which  he 
continued,  likewise,  to  administer  the  affairs  of  the  govern- 
ment with  great  wisdom  and  broad  statesmanship. 

In  1809,  after  witnessing  the  inauguration  of  his  succes- 
sor, Madison,  Jefferson  left  Washington  for  Monticello.  After 
forty  years  of  political  turmoil  and  strife,  he  retired  finally 
to  the  seclusion  of  private  life.  During  this  closing  period, 
which  was  burdened  bv  financial  embarrassment,  he  gave  much 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  79 

time  and  labor  to  the  founding  of  the  University  of  Virginia. 
He  planned  the  buildings,  designated  the  departments  of  in- 
struction, and  framed  the  laws  for  its  government.  As  presi- 
dent of  the  Board,  he  exerted  a  controlling  influence  for  a 
number  of  years.  The  scheme  of  government  at  first  proposed, 
which  included  a  co-operative  feature,  did  not  come  up  to  his 
expectations.  It  erred  on  the  side  of  laxity;  and  very  soon  a 
spirit  of  riot  and  insubordination  among  the  students  brought 
the  university  to  the  verge  of  dissolution.  Stricter  regulations 
were  afterwards  adopted,  and  the  university  entered  upon  its 
career  of  usefulness  and  honor. 

With  advancing  years  naturally  came  increased  infirmity. 
As  the  end  drew  near  in  the  summer  of  1826,  he  earnestly  de- 
sired to  see  one  more  return  of  the  day  that  commemorated 
the  Declaration  of  Independence.  His  prayer  was  heard.  He 
passed  away  on  the  morning  of  July  4,  fifty  years  after  the 
adoption  of  his  immortal  Declaration.  A  nation  mourned  his 
death.  The  voice  of  partisan  prejudice  was  lost  for  a  time  in 
the  general  homage  paid  to  his  life  and  character.  He  was 
buried  at  Monticello,  where  a  modest  granite  shaft  marks  his 
resting-place.  It  bears  the  inscription  composed  by  himself 
and  found  among  his  papers:  — 

HERE    LIES    BURIED 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON, 

AUTHOR    OF   THE    DECLARATION    OF    INDEPENDENCE, 

OF   THE    STATUTE    OF    VIRGINIA    FOR    RELIGIOUS    FREEDOM, 

AND    FATHER    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    VIRGINIA. 

The  general  features  of  his  character  have  been  Drought 
out  in  the  course  of  this  sketch.  He  was  a  frank  and  honest 
man ;  and  as  he  expressed  himself  freely  in  his  writings,  we 
have  ample  facilities  for  knowing  him  well.  His  intellect 
was  capacious,  penetrating,  and  strong.  To  the  refinement 
of  a  superior  literary  culture  he  added  rich  stores  of  general 
information.  He  was  singularly  independent  In  thought  and 


8O  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

action  —  a  natural  leader  among  men.  He  was  a  prince  among 
statesmen.  The  services  he  rendered  his  country  are  second 
only  to  those  of  Washington.  His  fundamental  political  faith 
was  that  all  legitimate  government  is  based  on  the  consent  of 
the  governed.  He  had  faith  in  humanity,  and  was  opposed 
to  aristocratic  institutions  of  every  kind.  He  was  the  friend 
of  popular  liberty.  His  integrity  was  above  reproach.  He 
loved  a  life  of  simplicity  and  retirement;  and  nowhere  else 
does  he  appear  more  admirable  than  in  the  patriarchal  dignity 
with  which  he  presided  over  his  large  estate  and  numerous  de- 
pendents at  Monticello. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON.  8 1 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

IT  is  not  without  reason  that  we  inquire  after  the  ances- 
try of  our  great  men.  The  transmission  of  personal  and  na- 
tional traits  from  parents  to  children  is  a  well-established  fact. 
While  heredity  does  not  explain  every  peculiarity  in  offspring, 
it  often  furnishes  us  a  key  to  leading  traits.  In  order  to  un- 
derstand any  character  thoroughly,  it  is  necessary  to  know  his 
antecedents.  All  this  is  illustrated  in  Alexander  Hamilton, 
who  was  born  on  the  island  of  Nevis,  Jan.  n,  1757.  "From 
his  father,  a  cool,  deliberate,  calculating  Scotchman,  he  inher- 
ited the  shrewdness,  the  logical  habits  of  thought,  which  con- 
stitute the  peculiar  glory  of  the  Scottish  mind.  From  his 
mother,  a  lady  of  French  extraction,  and  the  daughter  of  a 
Huguenot  exile,  he  inherited  the  easy  manners,  the  liveliness 
and  vivacity,  the  keen  sense  of  humor,  the  desire  and  the  abil- 
ity to  please,  which  so  eminently  distinguish  the  children  of 
the  Celtic  race."1 

When  yet  a  mere  boy,  he  was  placed  in  a  clerkship,  and 
intrusted  with  the  management  of  important  interests.  He  met 
the  responsibilities  thrown  upon  him  with  extraordinary  abil- 
ity. But  he  was  not  at  peace  in  the  drudgery  of  his  position. 
He  felt  in  himself,  as  many  other  great  men  have  felt  in  youth, 
the  promise  of  higher  things.  In  a  letter  preserved  to  us  from 
this  period,  he  says:  "I  contemn  the  grovelling  condition  of 
a  clerk,  or  the  like,  to  which  my  fortune  condemns  me,  and 
would  willingly  risk  my  life,  though  not  my  character,  to  exalt 
my  station.  I  am  confident,  Ned,  that  my  youth  excludes  me 
from  any  hopes  of  immediate  preferment,  nor  do  I  desire  it ; 
but  I  mean  to  prepare  the  way  for  futurity."  This  ambitious 

1  McMaster,  History  of  the  People  of  the  United  States. 


82  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

purpose  in  a  boy  of  thirteen  contains  the  promise  of  future 
distinction. 

He  had  a  decided  bent  for  literature.  Pope  and  Plutarch 
were  at  that  time  his  favorite  authors.  His  unusual  abilities 
began  to  attract  attention,  and  finally  funds  were  provided  to 
send  him  to  America,  where  a  wider  field  of  opportunity  was 
open  to  him.  He  reached  Boston  in  October,  1772,  and  thence 
went  to  New  York.  By  the  advice  of  judicious  friends,  he  en- 
tered a  grammar  school  at  Elizabethtown,  where  he  pursued 
his  studies  with  restless  energy.  His  literary  instinct  found 
vent  in  both  prose  and  poetry,  which  possessed  noteworthy 
merit.  At  the  end  of  a  year  he  entered  King's  (afterwards 
Columbia)  College,  where  he  continued  his  studies  with  char- 
acteristic vigor.  "In  the  debating  club,"  it  has  been  said, 
"he  was  the  most  effective  speaker;  in  the  recitation-room,  the 
most  thorough  scholar  ;  on  the  green,  the  most  charming 
friend ;  in  the  trial  of  wit,  the  'keenest  satirist. "  Those  who 
knew  "the  young  West  Indian,"  as  he  was  called,  recognized 
something  extraordinary  in  him,  and  vaguely  speculated  about 
his  promising  future. 

The  colonies  were  now  deeply  stirred  over  their  relations 
with  England.  The  Revolutionary  storm  was  gathering  fast. 
Which  side  of  the  conflict  was  the  promising  young  collegian 
to  espouse?  His  inclinations  were  at  first  on  the  side  of  Great 
Britain;  but  it  was  not  long  "until  he  became  convinced,"  to 
use  his  own  words,  "by  the  superior  force  of  the  arguments  in 
favor  of  the  colonial  claims."  Perhaps  he  instinctively  felt, 
or  with  keen  penetration  discerned,  that  the  eminence  to  which 
he  aspired  lay  on  the  colonial  side.  An  occasion  was  soon 
offered  to  embark  in  the  patriot  cause.  A  mass-meeting  was 
held  in  July,  1774,  to  urge  New  York,  which  was  in  possession 
of  the  Tories,  to  take  its  place  along  with  the  other  colonies 
in  resisting  British  aggression.  Hamilton  was  present;  and 
not  satisfied  with  the  presentation  of  the  colonial  cause  in 
the  speeches  already  delivered,  he  made  his  way  to  the  stand, 
and  after  a  few  moments  of  embarrassment  and  hesitation,  he 


ALEXANDER   HAMILTON.  83 

astonished  and  captivated  the  crowd  by  an  extraordinary  out- 
burst of  youthful  oratory. 

During  the  Revolutionary  Period  public  opinion  was 
largely  influenced  by  political  pamphlets  and  elaborate  dis- 
cussions in  the  newspapers.  Hamilton  was  soon  introduced 
into  this  species  of  controversy,  for  which  his  natural  abilities 
fitted  him  in  an  eminent  degree.  In  the  discussion  of  politi- 
cal and  constitutional  questions  he  had  no  superior.  In  1774 
there  appeared  two  ably  written  tracts  that  attacked  the  Conti- 
nental Congress,  and  did  the  patriot  cause  considerable  harm. 
To  counteract  their  influence,  Hamilton  wrote  two  pamphlets 
in  reply;  and  so  ably  did  he  vindicate  the  claims  of  the  colo- 
nies, that  in  spite  of  his  youth  he  at  once  took  rank  as  a  leader 
among  the  patriots. 

Once  fairly  enlisted  in  the  cause  of  American  liberty, 
Hamilton's  fiery  nature  made  him  active  and  aggressive.  By 
pen  and  voice  he  continued  to  mould  public  opinion.  But  his 
ardor  never  betrayed  him  into  rashness.  His  love  of  order  and 
justice  restrained  him  from  inconsiderate  violence.  He  even 
risked  his  life  and  (what  was  perhaps  more  to  him)  his  repu- 
tation with  the  people,  in  resisting  the  madness  of  a  mob. 
When  the  British  ship  of  war  Asia  opened  fire  on  New  York, 
a  mob  thronged  the  streets,  threatening  destruction  to  every 
Tory.  Dr.  Cooper,  the  president  of  the  college,  was  one  of 
the  most  prominent  adherents  of  the  crown;  and  thither  the 
crowd  rushed,  bent  upon  mischief.  But  Hamilton  already  stood 
on  the  steps  of  the  building,  and  arrested  the  tumultuous 
throng  with  his  vigorous  expostulations. 

But  Hamilton's  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  colonies  were  not 
confined  to  words.  After  the  battles  of  Lexington  and  Bunker 
Hill,  it  became  increasingly  evident  that  a  peaceful  solution 
of  the  controversy  with  Great  Britain  was  no  longer  possible. 
In  preparation  for  the  inevitable  appeal  to  arms,  Hamilton 
studied  military  science,  and  to  gain  practical  experience 
joined  a  company  of  volunteers.  In  several  trying  situations 
he  displayed  unflinching  courage.  In  1776  the  New  York 


84  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

convention  ordered  the  organization  of  an  artillery  company. 
Hamilton  made  application  for  the  command,  and  established 
his  fitness  by  a  successful  examination.  He  rapidly  recruited 
his  company,  and  expended  of  his  own  means  to  equip  it. 
By  constant  drill  he  brought  it  to  a  high  degree  of  efficiency. 
At  the  battle  of  Long  Island  and  of  White  Plains  his  battery 
rendered  effective  service.  At  the  end  of  six  months  Hamil- 
ton had  won  the  reputation  of  a  brave  and  brilliant  officer. 

The  ability  of  Hamilton  did  not  escape  the  attention  of  the 
commander-in-chief.  Accordingly,  in  March.  1777,  he  was 
appointed  a  member  of  Washington's  staff,  with  the  rank  of 
lieutenant-colonel.  During  the  next  four  years  he  was  inti- 
mately associated  with  the  commanding  general,  and  in  vari- 
ous capacities  rendered  him  valuable  aid.  His  chief  duty, 
however,  was  the  conduct  of  Washington's  large  correspon- 
dence. For  this  work  his  great  natural  gifts,  as  well  as  his 
previous  training,  peculiarly  fitted  him.  A  large  part  of  the 
letters  and  proclamations  issuing  from  headquarters  at  this 
time  were  the  work  of  Hamilton.  No  doubt  the  great  com- 
mander indicated  their  substance;  but  their  admirable  form 
was  due,  in  part  at  least,  to  the  skill  of  his  able  secretary. 

But  Hamilton's  connection  with  Washington's  staff  came 
to  an  abrupt  and  unexpected  end  in  February,  1781.  Having 
been  sent  for  by  the  commander-in-chief,  he  failed  to  respond 
promptly  to  the  summons.  When  he  made  his  appearance, 
after  a  brief  delay,  he  was  sharply  reproved  by  Washington, 
who  charged  him  with  disrespect.  The  rebuke  touched  Hamil- 
ton's high-strung  nature,  and  he  replied:  "I  am  not  conscious 
of  it,  Sir;  but  since  you  have  thought  it,  we  part."  Under  all 
the  circumstances  it  seems  difficult  to  justify  this  outburst  of 
the  youthful  aide.  But  he  never  liked  the  office  of  an  aide- 
de-camp;  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  irritated 
because  he  had  not  been  preferred  to  more  important  posts 
to  which  he  aspired.  Though  he  rejected  Washington's  over- 
tures looking  to  a  restoration  of  their  former  relations,  he  con- 
tinued to  serve  in  the  army  with  the  rank  of  colonel,  and  at 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON.  85 

Yorktown  he  led  an  assault  upon  a  British  redoubt  with  resist- 
less impetuosity. 

Hamilton  was  never  popular  with  the  masses.  His  posi- 
tive and  aggressive  character  raised  him  above  the  low  arts  of 
the  demagogue.  He  preferred  to  guide  rather  than  to  flattef 
the  people.  But  he  was  never  without  loyal  friends.  His  ex- 
traordinary force  of  character  made  him  a  centre  of  attraction 
for  less  positive  natures.  While  his  natural  gifts  made  him 
a  recognized  leader,  his  generous  nature  inspired  a  loyal  de- 
votion. He  was  popular  with  his  associates  in  the  army;  and 
the  French  officers  especially,  whose  language  he  spoke  with 
native  fluency,  regarded  him  with  enthusiastic  affection. 

Whether  under  favorable  circumstances  Hamilton  would 
have  made  a  great  general  must  remain  a  matter  of  specula- 
tion. But  war  was  not  the  sphere  for  which  his  talents  were 
best  adapted.  He  was  eminently  gifted  to  be  a  statesman ; 
and  while  in  active  service  in  the  army,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  considering  the  political  and  financial  needs  of  the  coun- 
try, and  from  suggesting  a  remedy  for  existing  evils.  In  1780 
he  addressed  to  Robert  Morris,  the  financier  of  the  Revolution, 
an  anonymous  letter,  which  is  noted  for  the  penetration  with 
which  it  treats  of  the  financial  difficulties  of  the  colonies. 

But  Hamilton's  thirst  for  military  and  civic  glory  did  not 
prevent  him  from  falling  in  love.  There  is  no  security  against 
the  shafts  of  Cupid  but  flight.  On  Dec.  14,  1780,  he  married 
Miss  Elizabeth  Schuyler,  daughter  of  General  Schuyler,  and 
a  charming  and  intelligent  woman.  Apart  from  the  domestic 
happiness  it  brought  him,  the  marriage  allied  him  to  an  old, 
wealthy,  and  influential  family.  The  only  fortune  Hamilton 
brought  his  bride  was  his  brilliant  talents  and  growing  repu- 
tation; but  when  his  father-in-law  generously  offered  him  finan- 
cial aid,  he  proudly  declined  to  receive  it.  Conscious  of  his 
abilities,  he  felt  able  to  make  his  way  in  the  world  alone. 
After  leaving  the  army  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  law,  and 
after  a  brief  course  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1782.  His 
strong  logical  mind  and  his  great  force  of  character  fitted  him 


86  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

to  achieve  distinction  in  the  legal  profession.  But  his  coun- 
try had  need  of  his  services  in  a  different  and  higher  sphere. 

In  November,  1782,  he  took  his  seat  in  Congress.  That 
body  had  sadly  declined  in  ability  and  prestige.  It  was  in- 
capable of  grappling  with  the  serious  problems  that  presented 
themselves,  and  the  country  seemed  to  be  rapidly  drifting  to 
destruction.  No  longer  held  together  by  a  sense  of  common 
danger,  the  Confederation  was  on  the  point  of  disintegrating. 
There  was  no  adequate  revenue;  the  debts  of  the  government 
were  unprovided  for;  and  the  army  was  about  to  be  disbanded 
without  receiving  its  long  arrears  of  pay.  Hamilton  made 
strenuous  efforts  to  correct  these  evils.  He  advocated  the 
levying  of  a  duty  on  imports ;  set  forth  the  necessity  of  main- 
taining the  public  credit  and  public  honor;  and  urged  a  just 
and  generous  treatment  of  the  army  that  had  achieved  Ameri- 
can independence.  But  his  efforts  were  in  vain.  The  pusil- 
lanimous body  could  not  rise  equal  to  the  situation.  Local 
interests  and  jealousies  prevailed  over  broad  and  patriotic  sen- 
timents. Hamilton's  career  in  Congress  was  not,  however, 
without  important  results.  It  increased  his  reputation  as  a 
patriotic  statesman,  and  also  excited  that  distrust  in  demo- 
cratic institutions  that  ever  afterwards  made  him  an  advocate 
of  a  strongly  centralized  and,  as  some  claimed,  a  monarchical 
form  of  government. 

Hamilton's  greatest  service  followed  the  adoption  of  the 
Constitution  by  the  convention.  Though  he  was  not  thor- 
oughly satisfied  with  it,  he  gave  it  his  hearty  support  as  the 
best  thing  attainable  under  existing  conditions,  and  as  a  great 
improvement  on  the  Articles  of  Confederation.  In  New  York, 
as  in  the  other  States,  there  was  a  strong  sentiment  against  the 
Constitution.  The  opposition  was  thoroughly  organized  and 
ably  led.  As  a  part  of  the  plan  to  prevent  the  ratification  of 
the  Constitution,  it  was  attacked  in  a  series  of  elaborate  and 
well-planned  essays.  This  was  a  field  in  which  Hamilton  was 
well-nigh  matchless.  He  accepted  the  challenge,  and  with  the 
assistance  of  Madison  and  Jay  he  prepared  that  powerful  series 


ALEXANDER   HAMILTON.  8/ 

of  eighty -five  essays  forming  the  "Federalist."  The  effect 
was  immediate  and  far-reaching.  The  "Federalist"  did  more 
than  any  other  writing  to  secure  the  adoption  and  support  of 
the  Constitution  throughout  the  country.  It  is  a  profound  dis- 
quisition on  the  principles  of  our  government,  and  has  since 
been  quoted  as  of  the  highest  authority  on  constitutional  ques- 
tions. 

But  it  is  more  than  a  political  and  controversial  treatise. 
Its  masterly  style  raises  it  to  the  rank  of  real  literature.  Most 
of  the  controversial  writings  of  the  Revolutionary  Period  have 
been  forgotten.  Having  served  their  temporary  purpose,  they 
have  been  swept  into  oblivion.  But  the  "Federalist"  endures 
as  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  the  human  reason.  Its  sustained 
power  is  wonderful.  The  argument,  clothed  in  elevated,  strong, 
and  sometimes  eloquent  language,  moves  forward  with  a  mighty 
momentum  that  sweeps  away  everything  before  it.  It  is  hardly 
surpassed  in  the  literature  of  the  world  as  a  model  of  master- 
ful popular  reasoning.  By  this  production  Hamilton  won  for 
himself  a  foremost  place  in  the  literature  of  his  time. 

But  the  "Federalist"  was  not  the  only  service  he  rendered 
the  Constitution.  It  was  chiefly  through  his  able  leadership 
that  the  New  York  convention  adopted  the  Constitution.  The 
result  was  one  of  the  most  noted  triumphs  ever  achieved  in  a 
deliberative  body.  When  the  convention  assembled,  the  Clin- 
tonian  or  Anti-Federalist  party  had  forty-six  out  of  sixty-five 
votes.  "Two-thirds  of  the  convention,"  wrote  Hamilton,  "and 
four-sevenths  of  the  people,  are  against  us."  In  spite  of  the 
great  odds  against  him,  he  entered  into  the  contest  with  reso- 
lute purpose.  The  Anti-Federalists  employed  every  artifice 
known  to  parliamentary  tactics  to  delay  and  defeat  ratification. 
Day  after  day  the  battle  raged.  Hamilton  was  constantly  on 
his  feet,  defending,  explaining,  and  advocating  the  Constitu- 
tion. His  mastery  of  the  subject  was  complete;  and  gradu- 
ally his  cogent  and  eloquent  reasoning  overcame  partisan 
prejudice.  "At  length  Hamilton  arose  in  the  convention, 
and  stating  that  Virginia  had  ratified  the  Constitution,  and 


88  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

that  the  Union  was  thereby  an  accomplished  fact,  moved  that 
they  cease  their  contentions,  and  add  New  York  to  the  new 
empire  of  Republican  States."  The  vote  was  taken,  and  the 
Constitution  adopted. 

The  new  government  was  organized  early  in  1789;  and 
upon  the  establishment  of  the  Treasury  Department  in  Septem- 
ber, Hamilton  was  called  by  Washington  to  take  charge  of  it. 
His  practical  wisdom  never  shone  to  better  advantage.  As 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  he  left  his  impress  upon  the  institu- 
tions of  his  country.  He  gave  to  the  Treasury  Department 
the  organization  it  has  since  substantially  retained.  He  was, 
perhaps,  the  master-spirit  in  putting  the  new  government  into 
practical  operation. 

The  opposition  to  Hamilton's  policy,  which  constantly 
aimed  at  strengthening  the  national  government,  at  length  took 
form  as  the  Republican  or  Democratic  party.  Jefferson  natu- 
rally became  its  head.  Intensely  republican  at  heart,  he  had 
come  to  entertain  exaggerated,  and  even  morbid,  views  con- 
cerning what  he  believed  to  be  the  monarchical  aims  of  the 
Federalists.  As  a  patriot  and  leader,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to 
arrest  as  far  as  possible  this  centralizing  tendency.  His  re- 
lations with  Hamilton  in  the  cabinet,  to  use  his  own  phrase, 
suggested  the  attitude  of  "two  cocks  in  a  pit."  The  feud  at 
length  grew  beyond  Washington's  power  of  conciliation,  and 
Jefferson  finally  withdrew  from  the  cabinet. 

It  is  impossible,  within  the  narrow  limits  of  this  sketch, 
to  follow  Hamilton  through  all  the  labors  and  controversies  of 
his  political  career.  He  sometimes  made  mistakes,  as  in  sup- 
porting the  odious  Alien  and  Sedition  Laws;  but  beyond  all 
question  he  stood  among  the  foremost  statesmen  of  his  time. 
By  some  he  is  assigned  the  highest  place.  "There  is  not  in 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,"  says  Guizot,  "an 
element  of  order,  of  force,  of  duration,  which  he  did  not 
powerfully  contribute  to  introduce  into  it,  and  to  cause  to  pre- 
dominate." Tallyrand,  who  saw  Hamilton  in  New  York,  said: 
"  I  consider  Napoleon,  Fox,  and  Hamilton  the  three  greatest 


ALEXANDER   HAMILTON.  89 

men  of  our  epoch,  and  without  hesitation  I  award  the  first 
place  to  Hamilton."  His  official  integrity,  though,  alas!  not 
his  moral  character,  was  unsullied.  The  investigation  of  his 
conduct  as  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  set  on  foot  by  his  ene- 
mies in  Congress,  recoiled  upon  their  own  heads. 

After  serving  nearly  six  years  in  Washington's  cabinet,  he 
retired  in  1795  to  private  life,  to  gain  an  adequate  support  for 
his  family.  He  resumed  the  practice  of  his  profession  in  New 
York.  His  brilliant  abilities  and  distinguished  public  services 
immediately  brought  him  an  extensive  practice.  He  speedily 
rose  to  the  head  of  the  bar.  His  legal  acumen  was  profound, 
while  his  clear  thought,  copious  and  forcible  language,  and  pas- 
sionate energy  of  will,  gave  him  great  power  as  an  advocate. 

But  the  end  was  drawing  near.  His  brilliant  career  was 
cut  short  by  the  requirements  of  a  false  and  barbarous  "  code 
of  honor."  Hamilton  did  not  allow  his  professional  labors  to 
destroy  his  interest  in  public  affairs.  He  continued  the  leader 
of  the  Federalist  party,  not  only  in  his  adopted  State,  but  in 
the  country  at  large.  In  the  political  contests  of  New  York, 
his  principal  opponent  was  Aaron  Burr,  a  brilliant  but  unprin- 
cipled man.  Hamilton  had  twice  thwarted  Burr's  political 
ambition.  When  at  last  he  brought  about  the  latter's  defeat 
for  the  governorship  of  New  York,  Burr  resolved  upon  a  deadly 
revenge.  He  sought  a  quarrel  with  Hamilton,  and  then  chal- 
lenged him.  The  duel  was  fought  at  Weehawken,  July  u, 
1804.  At  the  first  fire  Hamilton  fell  mortally  wounded,  dis- 
charging his  pistol  in  the  air.  His  death  caused  an  outburst 
of  sorrow  and  indignation  that  has  scarcely  been  surpassed  in 
the  history  of  our  country. 

In  person  Hamilton  was  considerably  under  size.  But 
there  was  a  force  in  his  personality,  a  fire  in  his  impassioned 
eye,  that  made  him  impressive.  He  was  one  of  the  most  ef- 
fective speakers  of  his  time.  In  his  social  relations  he  was 
genial,  high-spirited,  and  generous.  He  was  idolized  by  his 
family.  Though  he  was  never  popular  with  the  masses,  whom 
he  distrusted,  he  had  the  power  of  surrounding  himself  with  a 


QO  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

band  of  able  and  loyal  followers.  He  was  a  great  constructive 
thinker — a  leader  of  leaders.  In  the  judgment  of  his  rival 
Jefferson,  he  was  "  of  acute  understanding,  disinterested,  hon- 
est, and  honorable  in  all  private  transactions,  amiable  in  so- 
ciety, and  duly  valuing  virtue  in  private  life."  Chancellor 
Kent  pays  a  tribute  to  "his  profound  penetration,  his  power 
of  analysis,  the  comprehensive  grasp  and  strength  of  his  un- 
derstanding, and  the  firmness,  frankness,  and  integrity  of  his 
character."  Like  all  great  men,  perhaps,  Hamilton  was  con- 
scious of  his  power;  and  at  times  it  made  him  self-assertive 
and  dictatorial.  He  relied  for  success,  not  upon  treacherous 
diplomacy,  but  upon  open  methods,  and,  if  need  be,  upon 
hard  fighting.  He  possessed  extraordinary  versatility  of  gen- 
ius; and  he  was  at  once  a  brilliant  officer,  a  powerful  writer, 
an  able  lawyer,  a  great  financier,  a  strong  party  leader,  and  a 
wise  statesman. 


FIRST  NATIONAL   PERIOD. 


REPRESENTATIVE    WRITERS. 

WASHINGTON   IRVING. 

JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN   BRYANT. 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.     • 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

OTHER    PROMINENT    WRITERS. 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING  (1780-1842).  Preacher,  lecturer,  and  Uni- 
tarian leader.  "  Life  and  Character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,"  "  Milton,  "* 
and  "  Self-Culture  "  are  his  best  productions. 

AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT(  1 799-1888).  Educator  and  philosopher.  Among 
his  works  are  "  Concord  Days,"  and  "  Table  Talk." 

HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU  (1817-1862).  A  recluse  and  observer  of  nature. 
Author  of  "  Walden ;  or,  Life  in  the  Woods,"  "  Cape  Cod,"  "  The 
Maine  Woods,"  etc. 

MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI  (1810-1850).  Editor  of  the  Dial,  and  author 
of  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  and  "  Papers  on  Literature 
and  Art." 

JAMES  K.  PAULDING  (1779-1860).  Secretary  of  the  Navy  under  Van 
Buren,  and  author  of  "  Diverting  History  of  John  Bull  and  Brother 
Jonathan,"  and  "  The  Dutchman's  Fireside,"  a  novel. 

JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE  (1795-1820).  Author  of  "The  Culprit  Fay,"  a 
poem  of  considerable  merit,  and  the  well-known  lyric,  "  The  American 

91 


92  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Flag."     A  friend  of  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  with  whom  he  worked  for  a 
time  in  literary  partnership. 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK  (1790-1867).  Author  of  a  long  poem  called 
"  P'anny,"  and  the  stirring  lyric,  "  Marco  Bozzaris."  On  the  death  of 
his  friend  Drake  he  wrote  the  beautiful  elegy  beginning :  — 

"Green  be  the  turf  above  thee, 
Friend  of  my  better  days! 
None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee, 
Nor  named  thee  but  to  praise." 

SAMUEL  WOODWORTH  (1786-1842).  Publisher,  prose  writer,  and  poet. 
One  of  the  founders  of  The  New  York  Mirror,  long  the  most  popular 
literary  journal  in  this  country.  Author  of  an  "  Account  of  the  War 
with  Great  Britain,"  and  a  volume  of  "  Poems,  Odes,  and  Songs,"  the 
most  popular  of  which  is  "  The  Old  Oaken  Bucket." 

ALEXANDER  H.  EVERETT  (1791-1847).  Diplomatist  and  prose  writer. 
Ambassador  at  The  Hague  in  1818,  and  at  Madrid  in  1825.  For 
several  years  editor  and  proprietor  of  The  North  American  Review. 
His  principal  works  are  "  Europe,"  "  America,"  and  "  Critical  and 
Miscellaneous  Essays." 

EDWARD  EVERETT  (1794-1865).  Editor  of  The  North  American  Review, 
member  of  Congress,  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  Minister  at  the 
Court  of  Saint  James,  President  of  Harvard  College,  and  Secretary 
of  State.  Principal  works,  "  A  Defence  of  Christianity,"  and  "  Ora- 
tions and  Speeches  on  Various  Occasions." 

WILLIAM  WARE  (1797-1852).  Unitarian  minister,  lecturer,  editor  of  the 
Christian  Examiner,  and  historical  novelist.  Principal  works,  "  Zeno- 
bia,"  originally  published  in  the  Knickerbocker  Magazine,  "Aurelian," 
describing  Rome  in  the  third  century,  and  "  Julian,  or  Scenes  in 
Judea,"  in  which  the  most  striking  incidents  in  the  life  of  Jesus  are 
described. 

JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL  (1795-1856).  Scientist,  scholar,  and  poet.  Pro- 
fessor of  Chemistry  at  West  Point,  and  State  Geologist  of  Wisconsin. 
Assisted  Noah  Webster  in  revising  his  large  dictionary.  Published 
several  volumes  of  poetry,  the  last  and  best-known  of  which  is  en- 
titled "  The  Dream  of  Day  and  Other  Poems." 

SARAH  JOSEPHA  HALE  (1790-1879).  Poet,  prose  writer,  and  editor. 
Edited  the  Ladies'  Magazine  in  Boston  from  1828  to  1837,  the  first 
periodical  in  this  country  devoted  exclusively  to  woman,  and  after- 
wards combined  with  Godey  's  Lady 's  Book  of  Philadelphia.  Principal 


FIRST  NATIONAL   PERIOD.  93 

works,  "  The  Genius  of  Oblivion  and  Other  Poems,"  "  Northwood,  a 
Tale,"  "  Sketches  of  American  Character,"  "  Traits  of  American  Life," 
and  "  Woman's  Record." 

CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK  (1789-1867).  Educator  and  novelist.  She 
conducted  a  school  for  young  ladies  for  fifty  years.  Among  her  novels 
are  "  A  New  England  Tale,"  "  Redwood,"  reprinted  in  England,  and 
translated  into  several  Continental  languages,  "  Hope  Leslie,"  "  Clar- 
ence," and  "  The  Linwoods." 

LYDIA  HUNTLEY  SIGOURNEY  (1791-1865).  Writer  of  both  prose  and 
poetry ;  well  described  as  "  the  American  Hemans."  Among  her 
works  are  "  Traits  of  the  Aborigines  of  America,"  a  poem  in  five 
cantos,  "  A  Sketch  of  Connecticut  Forty  Years  Since,"  "  Poems," 
"  Letters  to  Young  Ladies,"  etc. 

LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD  (1802-1880).  Editor  and  prose  writer.  Among 
her  numerous  writings  may  be  mentioned  "  Hobomok,  an  Indian 
Story,"  "  The  Rebels,"  a  tale  of  the  American  Revolution,  "  History 
of  the  Condition  of  Women  in  All  Ages  and  Nations,"  "  Looking 
Toward  Sunset,"  and  "  The  Romance  of  the  Republic." 

GEORGE  P.  MORRIS  (1802-1864).  Journalist  and  poet.  In  1823,  with 
Samuel  Woodworth,  he  established  The  New  York  Mirror.  Among 
his  works  are  "  The  Deserted  Bride,  and  Other  Poems,"  "  The  Whip- 
poor-will,  a  Poem,"  "American  Melodies,"  and,  in  conjunction  with 
Willis,  "  The  Prose  and  Poetry  of  Europe  and  America."  "  Wood- 
man, Spare  that  Tree"  is  his  most  popular  piece. 

NATHANIEL  P.  WILLIS  (1806-1867).  Editor  of  The  Mirror,  and  author 
of  poems  of  much  excellence  on  Scriptural  themes. 

WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS  (1806-1870).  One  of  the  best  Southern 
novelists,  author  of  "  The  Yemassee,"  "  The  Partisan,"  and  "  Beau- 
champe." 

JOHN  PENDLETON  KENNEDY  (1795-1870).  Secretary  of  the  Navy  under 
Fillmore,  and  author  of  old-time  society  novels,  among  which  are 
"  Swallow  Barn  "  and  "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson." 

RICHARD  HENRY  WILDE  (1789-1847).  Member  of  Congress  from 
Georgia,  author  of  a  "  Life  of  Tasso,"  and  the  beautiful  lyric,  "  My 
Life  is  Like  the  Summer  Rose." 

WASHINGTON  ALLSTON  (1779-1843).  Painter,  poet,  and  prose  writer; 
author  of  the  poem  "  The  Sylphs  of  the  Seasons,"  and  the  art-novel 
"Monaldi."  His  "Lectures  on  Art"  appeared  after  his  death. 


94  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

RICHARD  HENRY  DANA  (1787-1879).  Poet,  editor,  and  prose  writer, 
author  of  the  "  Buccaneer,"  and  other  poems,  and  for  several  years 
connected  with  the  North  American  Review. 

SAMUEL  G.  GOODRICH  (1793-1860).  Publisher  and  author,  best  known 
as  "  Peter  Parley."  He  wrote  a  series  of  books  for  children,  which 
extended  through  more  than  a  hundred  volumes.  Among  his  works 
are  "  The  Outcast  and  Other  Poems,"  "  Fireside  Education,"  "  Illus- 
trated Natural  History." 

WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT  (1796-1859).  Author  of  standard  histo- 
ries on  Spanish  themes :  "  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,"  "  Con- 
quest of  Mexico,"  "  Conquest  of  Peru,"  and  "  Philip  the  Second." 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY  (1814-1877).  Author  of  an  admirable  series  of 
historical  works  relating  to  Holland :  "  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Re- 
public," "The  History  of  the  United  Netherlands,"  and  "Life  of 
John  of  Barneveld." 

GEORGE  BANCROFT  (1800-1891).  Author  of  a  standard,  comprehensive 
"History  of  the  United  States"  down  to  1789. 

RICHARD  HILDRETH  (1807-1865).  Lawyer,  editor,  and  author  of  a  com- 
prehensive "  History  of  the  United  States,"  ending  with  the  first  presi- 
dential term  of  James  Monroe. 

JAMES  GORHAM  PALFREY  (1796-1881).  Author  of  an  extended  "  History 
of  New  England." 

FRANCES  SARGENT  050000(1812-1850).  Poet  and  magazine  writer.  A 
volume  of  poems,  "  A  Wreath  of  Wild  Flowers  from  New  England," 
was  much  admired  in  its  day.  "  Mrs.  Osgood,"  wrote  Poe,  "  has  a  rich 
fancy,  —  even  a  rich  imagination,  —  a  scrupulous  taste,  a  faultless  style, 
and  an  ear  finely  attuned  to  the  delicacies  of  melody." 

JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE  (1816-1887).     Journalist  and  poet.     In  rank,  next 

to  Holmes  in  humorous  poetry.     The  titles  of   his  successive  works 

are  "  The  Money  King  and  Other  Poems,"  "  Clever  Stories  of  Many 

Nations,"  "  The  Masquerade,"  "  Fables  and  Legends  of  Many  Coun- 

,  tries,"  "  The  Proud  Miss  McBride,"  and  "  Leisure  Day  Rhymes." 

JAMES  T.  FIELDS  (1817-1881).  Publisher,  editor,  and  author.  Edited 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  horn.  1861  to  1871.  Besides  several  volumes  of 
poetry,  he  wrote  "  Yesterdays  with  Authors,"  and  "  Underbrush." 

WALT  WHITMAN  (1819-1892).  Printer,  school-teacher,  carpenter,  and 
poet.  Principal  work,  "  Leaves  of  Grass."  By  some  assigned  a  very 
high  rank ;  by  others  scarcely  regarded  as  a  poet  at  all.  He  is  highly 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD.  95 

appreciated   in  England,  and  his  pieces   have   been   translated   into 
several  modern  languages. 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ  (1822-1872).  Painter  and  poet.  His  first 
volume  of  "Poems"  appeared  in  1847.  Other  works  are  "The 
Female  Poets  of  America,"  "  The  New  Pastoral,"  "  The  Wagoner  of 
the  Alleghanies."  His  most  popular  poem  is  "  Sheridan's  Ride," 
though  poetically  inferior  to  "  Drifting."  t 

BENSON  J.  LOSSING  (1813-1892).  Biographer  and  historian.  Among 
his  numerous  works  are  "  Life  of  Washington,"  "  Field-Book  of  the 
Revolution,"  and  "  Pictorial  History  of  the  United  States." 

JACOB  ABBOTT  (1803-1879).  A  voluminous  author  of  books  designed 
for  the  young.  Among  his  works  are  the  "  Rollo  Books"  (28  vols.), 
"The  Lucy  Books"  (-6  vols.),  and  "  Harper's  Story-Books"  (36  vols.). 

JOHN  S.  C.  ABBOTT  (1805-1877).  Brother  of  Jacob  Abbott,  and,  like 
him,  a  minister.  Author  of  moral  and  historical  works,  the  latter 
being  characterized  by  a  partisan  tone.  Noteworthy  are  "  History  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,"  "  Napoleon  at  Saint  Helena,"  "  The  French 
Revolution  of  1789,"  etc. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  (1825-1878).  Traveller,  poet,  and  novelist.  Among  his 
best  works  are  "  Views  Afoot,"  "  Byways  of  Europe,"  "  Lars ;  a  Pas- 
toral of  Norway,"  "  Masque  of  the  Gods,"  "  Prince  Deukalion,"  "  Song 
of  the  Camp,"  translation  of  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  "  Story  of  Kennett," 
and  "  Hannah  Thurston." 

JOSIAH  GILBERT  HOLLAND  (1819-1881).  Poet,  novelist,  and  editor.  His 
longest  poems  are  "  Katrina  "  and  "  Bitter-Sweet ;  "  his  best  novels  are 
"  Miss  Gilbert's  Career,"  "  Arthur  Bonnicastle,"  and  "  The  Story  of 
Sevenoaks ; "  for  a  number  of  years  editor  of  Scribner  's  Monthly. 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE  (1812-1896).  Author  of  "Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  the  most  widely  read  of  American  books,  "  The  Minister's 
Wooing,"  "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island,"  "  Oldtown  Folks,"  etc. 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN  (1823-1893).  Eminent  historian,  who  wrote  a  num- 
ber of  volumes  under  the  general  title,  "  France  and  England  in  North 
America." 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS  (1824-1892).  Editor,  essayist,  and  novelist. 
Principal  works  are  "  Prue  and  I,"  "  Trumps,"  and  "  Potiphar  Papers." 


IV. 

FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD, 
(1815-1861.) 

THE  First  National  Period  extends  from  the  close  of 
the  War  of  1812  to  the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War.  It 
covers  nearly  half  a  century,  and  exhibits  great  national 
expansion.  The  arduous  tasks  imposed  upon  the  people 
during  the  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  Periods  were  suc- 
cessfully achieved.  The  dreams  of  our  forefathers  began 
to  be  realized.  "America,"  says  Hegel,  "is  the  land  of 
the  future,  where  in  the  ages  that  lie  before  us  the  bur- 
den of  the  world's  history  shall  reveal  itself."  During  the 
period  under  consideration  it  made  a  long  stride  toward 
its  coming  greatness. 

With  the  establishment  of  peace  in  1815,  the  United 
States  entered  upon  an  unparalleled  era  of  prosperity. 
The  development  of  the  country  went  forward  with  great 
rapidity.  An  increasing  tide  of  immigration,  chiefly  from 
Great  Britain,  Ireland,  and  Germany,  swept  to  our  shores. 
Of  kindred  blood,  the  great  body  of  immigrants  readily 
adjusted  themselves  to  their  new  surroundings,  and  vig- 
orously joined  with  our  native-born  people  in  developing 
the  agricultural,  mineral,  and  industrial  resources  of  our 
country.  The  population  increased  from  8,438,000  in 
1815  to  32,000,000  in  1861,  thus  equalling  the  leading 
nations  of  Europe. 

97 


98  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  great  valley  of  the  Mississippi  was  occupied.  Its 
fertility  made  it  one  of  the  most  favored  agricultural  re- 
gions in  the  world.  The  invention  of  agricultural  machi- 
nery made  it  possible  to  harvest  immense  crops  of  wheat 
and  corn,  for  which  a  market  was  found  in  Europe.  Trade 
and  manufactures  naturally  attended  upon  agriculture  ;  and, 
as  a  result,  flourishing  towns  and  cities  sprang  up  with 
unexampled  rapidity.  Cincinnati  grew  from  a  town  of 
5,000  in  181 5  to  a  city  of  161,000  in  1860,  while  the  growth 
of  St.  Louis  and  Chicago  was  still  more  phenomenal. 

The  Atlantic  States  showed  a  development  no  less  re- 
markable. The  frontier,  carried  beyond  the  Mississippi, 
made  the  toils  and  dangers  of  border  life  a  tradition.  The 
invention  of  the  steam-engine  gave  a  new  impulse  to  com- 
merce and  manufacture.  In  addition  to  excellent  high- 
ways, railroads  traversed  the  country  in  all  directions. 
The  New  England  States  developed  large  manufacturing 
interests.  The  seaboard  cities  grew  in  size,  wealth,  and  cul- 
ture. Baltimore  increased  from  49,000  in  1 8 1  5  to  2 1 2,000 
in  1860.  Within  the  same  period,  Boston  increased  from 
38,000  to  177,000;  Philadelphia  from  100,000  to  508,000  ; 
and  New  York  from  100,000  to  813,000. 

The  intellectual  culture  of  the  people  kept  pace  with 
their  material  expansion.  The  public-school  system  was 
extended  from  New  England  throughout  the  free  States. 
In  the  West  liberal  appropriations  of  land  were  made  for 
their  support.  Gradually  the  courses  of  study  and  the 
methods  of  instruction  were  improved  through  the  efforts 
of  intelligent  educators  like  Horace  Mann  and  Henry 
Barnard.  Schools  of  secondary  education  were  founded 
in  all  parts  of  the  country.  No  fewer  than  one  hundred 
and  forty-nine  colleges  were  established  between  1815  and 


FIRST  NATIONAL    PERIOD.  99 

1861.  These  institutions,  liberally  supported  by  denomi- 
national zeal  or  by  private  munificence,  became  centres  of 
literary  culture.  Harvard  College  exerted  an  astonishing 
influence.  Between  1821  and  1831  it  graduated  Emerson, 
Holmes,  Lowell,  Sumner,  Phillips,  Motley,  and  Thoreau. 
Bancroft  and  Prescott  were  graduated  at  an  earlier  date. 
Longfellow,  though  a  graduate  of  Bowdoin,  for  some  years 
filled  the  chair  of  Modern  Languages.  This  list,  as  will 
be  seen,  contains  a  number  of  the  most  honored  names 
in  American  literature. 

The  periodical  press  became  a  powerful  agency  in  the 
diffusion  of  knowledge.  In  no  other  country,  perhaps, 
has  greater  enterprise  been  shown  in  periodical  literature 
than  in  America.  Our  newspapers,  as  a  rule,  show  more 
energy,  and  our  magazines  more  taste,  than  those  of  Eu- 
rope. In  1860  there  were  4,051  papers  and  periodicals, 
circulating  annually  927,951,000  copies,  an  average  of 
thirty-four  copies  for  each  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the 
country.  They  gradually  rose  in  excellence,  and  stimu- 
lated literary  production.  A  few  of  our  ablest  writers, 
Bryant,  Poe,  Whittier,  and  Lowell,  served  as  editors.  The 
North  American  Review,  which  was  founded  in  1815, 
numbered  among  its  contributors  nearly  every  writer  of 
prominence  in  the  First  National  Period. 

As  the  foregoing  considerations  show,  our  country  now, 
for  the  first  time,  presented  conditions  favorable  to  the 
production  of  general  literature.  The  stress  of  the  Colo- 
nial and  Revolutionary  Periods  was  removed,  and  the  in- 
tellectual energies  of  the  people  were  freer  to  engage  in 
the  arts  of  peace.  The  growing  wealth  of  the  country 
brought  the  leisure  and  culture  that  create,  to  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  a  demand  for  the  higher  forms  of  literature. 


100  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  large  cities  became  literary  centres.  Large  publish- 
ing-houses were  established.  Under  these  circumstances 
it  is  not  strange  that  there  appeared  writers  in  poetry, 
fiction,  and  history  who  attained  a  high  degree  of  excel- 
lence. Irving,  Cooper,  Bryant,  Hawthorne,  Longfellow, 
Bancroft,  Prescott,  and  others  are  names  that  reflect  credit 
upon  their  country. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  nearly  all  the  great  writers  of 
this  period  were  from  New  England.  It  was  there  that 
the  conditions  were  most  favorable.  The  West  was  still 
too  new  for  much  literary  activity.  Like  the  early  colo- 
nists, the  people  were  engaged  in  the  great  task  of  sub- 
duing an  untamed  country.  In  the  South  the  social 
conditions  were  not  favorable  to  literature.  Slavery  re- 
tarded the  intellectual  as  well  as  the  material  development 
of  the  Southern  States.  It  checked  manufacture,  and 
turned  immigration  westward.  Manual  labor  contracted 
a  fatal  taint  from  slavery.  While  the  slaveholding  class 
were  generally  intelligent,  and  often  highly  cultured,  the 
rest  of  the  white  population  were  comparatively  illiterate. 
The  public-school  system,  regarded  as  unfavorable  to  the 
existing  social  relations,  was  not  adopted.  The  energies 
of  the  dominant  class  were  devoted  to  politics  rather  than 
to  literature.  Thus,  while  the  South  had  great  debaters 
and  orators,  like  Calhoun  and  Clay,  it  did  not,  during  this 
period,  produce  a  single  writer  of  eminence. 

So  far  our  inquiry  has  sought  an  explanation  of  the 
literary  activity  of  this  period.  The  general  causes,  as 
in  every  period  of  literary  bloom,  are  sufficiently  patent. 
We  may  now  examine  the  influences  that  gave  literature 
its  distinctive  character  as  contrasted  with  that  of  the  pre- 
ceding periods.  The  result  will  not  be  without  interest. 


l-'IKST  NATIONAL  PERIOD.  IOI 

The  period  under  consideration  witnessed  a  wonderful 
stride  in  the  march  of  human  progress.  There  was  a  re- 
naissance, based  not  on  a  restoration  of  ancient  literature, 
but  upon  invention  and  science.  It  was  not  confined  to 
any  one  country,  but  extended  throughout  the  Christian 
world.  It  is  not  necessary  to  enumerate  the  various  in- 
ventions which  in  a  few  decades  revolutionized  the  entire 
system  of  agriculture,  manufacture,  and  commerce.  The 
drudgery  of  life  was  greatly  relieved,  the  products  of  hu- 
man industry  were  vastly  increased,  and  the  comforts  of 
life  largely  multiplied.  The  nations  of  the  earth  were 
drawn  closer  together,  and  the  intellectual  horizon  was 
extended  until  it  embraced,  not  a  single  province,  but  the 
civilized  world. 

But  the  period  was  distinguished  scarcely  less  by  its 
spirit  of  scientific  inquiry.  Emancipating  themselves 
largely  from  the  authority  of  tradition,  men  learned  to 
look  upon  the  world  for  themselves.  Patient  toilers  care- 
fully accumulated  facts  upon  which  to  base  their  conclu- 
sions. All  the  natural  sciences  were  wonderfully  expanded. 
The  origin  of  man,  the  history  of  the  past,  the  laws  of 
society,  were  all  brought  under  new  and  searching  investi- 
gation. As  a  result  of  all  this  scientific  inquiry,  a  flood 
of  light  was  shed  upon  the  principal  problems  of  nature 
and  life.  Christendom  was  lifted  to  a  higher  plane  of  in- 
telligence than  it  had  ever  reached  before. 

This  general  renaissance  produced  a  corresponding 
change  in  literature.  It  enriched  literature  with  new 
treasures  of  truth.  It  taught  men  to  look  upon  the  uni- 
verse in  a  different  way.  Literary  activity  was  stimulated, 
and  both  poetry  and  prose  were  cultivated  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree.  New  forms  of  literature  were  devised  to 


102  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

hold  the  rich  fruitage  everywhere  at  hand.  The  frigid 
classicism  of  the  age  of  Pope  was  abandoned  as  artificial 
and  inadequate.  The  creative  impulse  of  genius  demanded 
untrammelled  freedom.  The  essay  acquired  a  new  impor- 
tance. History  was  suffused  with  a  philosophic  spirit  that 
gave  it  greater  depth.  Fiction  entered  a  broader  field,  and 
while  ministering  to  pleasure,  became  the  handmaid  of 
history,  science,  and  social  philosophy. 

The  effect  of  this  renaissance  was  felt  in  America 
largely  by  reflection.  The  literary  expansion  we  have 
been  considering  went  forward  more  rapidly  in  the  British 
Isles  than  in  the  United  States.  It  had  already  begun 
there,  while  the  people  of  this  country  were  still  strug- 
gling with  the  great  problems  of  political  independence 
and  national  government.  Before  the  close  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary period  here,  Cowper  and  Burns  had  given  a  new 
direction  to  poetry  in  Great  Britain.  During  the  period 
under  consideration,  there  arose  in  England  and  Scotland 
a  group  of  able  writers  who  were  pervaded  by  the  mod- 
ern spirit,  and  who,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  influenced 
contemporary  literature  in  America.  Scott  wrote  his  mas- 
terful historical  novels.  Wordsworth  interpreted  the  in- 
audible voices  of  mountain,  field,  and  sky.  Byron  poured 
forth  his  eloquent  descriptions,  irreverent  satire,  and  som- 
bre misanthropy.  Carlyle  and  Macaulay  infused  new  life 
into  history  and  essay.  Dickens  and  Thackeray  held  up 
the  mirror  to  various  phases  of  social  life.  Coleridge  in- 
terpreted to  England  the  profound  thoughts  of  German 
philosophy.  The  Edinburgh  Review,  founded  by  Jeffrey, 
Sydney  Smith,  and  Henry  Brougham,  exercised  its  lordly 
dominion  in  the  realm  of  letters. 

During  the  First  National  Period,  there  were  two  po- 


F1XST  NATIONAL   PERIOD.  103 

litical  questions  that  exerted  a  considerable  influence  upon 
the  literature  of  this  country.  These  were  State  rights 
and  slavery.  At  frequent  intervals  these  questions  came 
up  to  disturb  the  public  peace.  For  half  a  century  they 
were  dealt  with  in  a  spirit  of  compromise.  But  the  views 
held  and  the  interests  involved  were  too  conflicting  to 
be  permanently  settled  without  an  appeal  to  force.  The 
statesmen  of  the  South  generally  maintained  the  doctrine 
of  State  rights.  It  was  boldly  proclaimed  in  the  United 
States  Senate  that  a  State  had  the  right,  under  certain 
circumstances,  to  nullify  an  act  of  Congress.  In  1830 
Webster  attained  the  height  of  his  forensic  fame  by  his 
eloquent  reply  to  Hayne  on  the  doctrine  of  nullification. 

The  question  of  slavery  was  still  more  serious.  It  was 
closely  interwoven  with  the  social  organization  of  the 
South.  The  invention  of  the  cotton  gin  in  1793  increased 
the  demand  for  slave  labor.  The  yield  of  cotton  was  rap- 
idly increased  from  year  to  year,  till  in  1860  it  reached  the 
enormous  figure  of  2,054,698,800  pounds.  Thus  cotton 
became  a  source  of  great  national  wealth  ;  and  as  a  result, 
slavery  was  intrenched  behind  the  commercial  and  selfish 
interests  of  a  large  and  influential  class  in  all  parts  of  the 
country. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  a  growing  moral  sentiment 
against  slavery.  It  was  felt  to  be  a  contradiction  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  and  a  violation  of  the  natu- 
ral rights  of  man.  In  1830  William  Lloyd  Garrison  began 
the  publication  of  an  antislavery  paper  called  TJie  Libera- 
tor, and  with  passionate  zeal  denounced  a  constitution  that 
protected  slavery,  as  "  a  league  with  death  and  a  covenant 
with  hell."  The  agitation  for  abolition  was  begun.  In 
1833  an  antislavery  society  was  formed.  Whittier,  Long- 


104  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

fellow,  Lowell,  Phillips,  and  others  lent  the  weight  of  their 
influence  and  the  skill  of  their  pens  to  the  antislavery 
movement.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  exerted  no  small  in- 
fluence upon  public  sentiment  in  the  North  by  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,"  a  work  in  which  the  cruelties  of  slavery 
were  graphically  depicted.  In  a  few  years  the  abolition 
party  became  strong  enough  to  enter  national  politics. 
The  feeling  between  the  North  and  the  South  became 
more  pronounced  and  irreconcilable.  Finally  attempted 
secession  precipitated  a  civil  war,  which  resulted  in  the 
abolition  of  slavery,  and  the  cementing  of  our  country 
into  a  homogeneous  and  indissoluble  union. 

With  the  First  National  Period  our  literature  assumed, 
to  some  extent  at  least,  a  distinctively  American  charac- 
ter. New  themes,  requiring  original  treatment,  were  pre- 
sented to  the  literary  worker.  In  the  East,  Indian  life 
had  become  sufficiently  remote  to  admit  of  idealistic  treat- 
ment. In  Cooper's  works  the  Indian  is  idealized  as  much 
as  the  mediaeval  knight  in  the  novels  of  Scott.  The  pic- 
turesque elements  in  pioneer  life  were  more  clearly  dis- 
cerned. The  wild  life  of  the  frontiersman  began  to  appear 
in  fiction,  which,  possessing  the  charm  of  novelty,  was  cor- 
dially received  abroad.  In  the  older  parts  of  the  country, 
tradition  lent  a  legendary  charm  to  various  localities  and 
different  events.  The  legends  of  the  Indians  were  found 
to  possess  poetic  elements.  From  these  sources  Irving, 
Longfellow,  and  Hawthorne  drew  the  materials  for  some 
of  their  most  original  and  popular  works. 

In  the  first  half  of  the  present  century  there  were  in 
New  England  two  closely  related  movements  that  deserve 
mention  for  their  important  effect  upon  literature.  The 
first  of  these  was  the  Unitarian  controversy.  Though  the 


FIRST  NATIONAL   PERIOD.  105 

Unitarian  doctrine  is  very  old,  and  was  held  by  a  few  New 
England  churches  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  contro- 
versy began  in  1805,  when  Henry  Ware,  a  learned  Unita- 
rian, was  elected  professor  of  divinity  in  Harvard  College. 
The  capture  of  this  leading  institution  by  the  Unitarians 
naturally  provoked  a  theological  conflict.  The  champions 
on  the  Unitarian  side  were  Henry  Ware,  William  Ellery 
Channing,  and  Andrews  Norton ;  on  the  Trinitarian  side, 
Leonard  Woods,  Moses  Stuart,  and  Lyman  Beecher. 
From  1815  to  1830  the  discussion  was  the  leading  ques- 
tion of  the  time.  Though  conducted  with  great  earnest- 
ness on  both  sides,  the  controversy  was  without  that 
venomous  character  distinguished  as  odium  theologicum. 
A  large  number  of  Congregational  churches  adopted  the 
Unitarian  belief.  Emphasizing  the  moral  duties  rather 
than  the  doctrinal  beliefs  of  Christianity,  the  Unitarians  be- 
came very  active  in  education,  philanthropy,  and  reform. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  all  the  leading  writers  of 
New  England  felt  the  stimulating  and  liberalizing  influence 
of  the  Unitarian  movement. 

The  other  movement  referred  to  belongs  to  the  sphere 
of  philosophy,  though  it  also  affected  religious  belief.  It 
has  been  characterized  as  transcendentalism.  In  spite  of 
the  levity  with  which  the  movement  has  sometimes  been 
treated,  it  was  an  earnest  protest  against  a  materialistic 
philosophy,  which  teaches  that  the  senses  are  our  only 
source  of  knowledge.  It  was  a  reaction  against  what  is 
dull,  prosaic,  and  hard  in  every-day  life.  The  central 
thing  in  transcendentalism  is  the  belief  that  the  human 
mind  has  the  power  to  attain  truth  independently  of  the 
senses  and  the  understanding.  Emerson,  himself  a  lead- 
ing transcendentalist,  defines  it  as  follows :  "  What  is 


106  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

popularly  called  Transcendentalism  among  us  is  Idealism  : 
Idealism  as  it  appears  in  1842.  As  thinkers,  mankind 
have  ever  divided  into  two  sects,  Materialists  and  Ideal- 
ists ;  the  first  class  founding  on  experience,  the  second  on 
consciousness  ;  the  first  class  beginning  to  think  from  the 
data  of  the  senses,  the  second  class  perceive  that  the 
senses  are  not  final,  and  say,  the  senses  give  us  represen- 
tations of  things,  but  what  are  the  things  themselves,  they 
cannot  tell.  The  materialist  insists  on  facts,  on  history, 
on  the  force  of  circumstances  and  the  animal  wants  of 
man ;  the  idealist  on  the  power  of  Thought  and  of  Will, 
on  inspiration,  on  miracle,  on  individual  culture." 

This  idealistic  or  transcendental  philosophy  did  not 
originate  in  New  England,  though  it  received  a  special 
coloring  and  application  there.  It  began  in  Germany 
with  the  writings  of  Kant,  Fichte,  and  Schelling ;  it  was 
transported  to  England  by  Coleridge  and  Carlyle,  through 
whose  works  it  first  made  its  way  to  America.  It  abounded 
in  profound  and  fertile  thought.  It  was  taken  up  by  a 
remarkable  group  of  men  and  women  in  Boston  and  Con- 
cord, among  whom  were  Emerson,  Alcott,  Thoreau,  Parker, 
and  Margaret  Fuller.  Their  organ  (for  every  movement 
at  that  time  had  to  have  its  periodical)  was  The  Dial. 
Transcendentalism  exerted  an  elevating  influence  upon 
New  England  thought,  and  gave  to  our  literature  one  of 
its  greatest  writers  in  the  person  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Contemporary  with  the  transcendental  movement,  all 
sorts  of  novelties  and  projects  of  reform  kept  New  Eng- 
land in  a  state  of  ferment.  Spiritualism,  phrenology, 
and  mesmerism  attracted  much  attention.  Temperance, 
woman's  rights,  and  socialism  were  all  discussed  in  public 
gatherings  and  in  the  press.  Many  of  these  schemes, 


NATIONAL   PERIOD.  IO/ 

which  aimed  at  the  regeneration  of  society,  had  the  sym- 
pathy and  encouragement  of  the  transcendentalists.  Some 
of  their  leading  spirits  participated  in  the  Brook  Farm  ex- 
periment, which  was  based  on  the  communistic  teachings 
of  Fourier.  Though  the  experiment  ended  in  failure,  it 
gave  the  world  Hawthorne's  "  Blithedale  Romance,"  in 
which  the  author  utilized  the  observations  made  during  his 
residence  in  the  famous  phalanstery. 


108  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

f  To  Washington  Irving  belongs  the  distinction  of  being  the 
first  of  our  great  writers  in  general  literature.  He  was  not  a 
great  theologian  like  Jonathan  Edwards,  nor  a  practical  phi- 
losopher and  moralist  like  Franklin,  nor  a  statesman  like  Jef- 
ferson and  Hamilton.  He  was  above  all  a  literary  man ;  and 
his  writings  belong,  in  large  measure  at  .least,  to  the  field  of 
'2  belles-lettres.  In  his  most  characteristic  writings  he  aimed  not 
so  much  at  instruction  as  at  entertainment.  He  achieved  that 
finished  excellence  of  form  that  at  once  elevates  literature  to 
the  classic  rank.  He  was  the  first  American  writer  to  gain 
general  recognition  abroad;  or,  to  use  Thackeray's  words, 

3*  "  Irving  was  the  first  ambassador  whom  the  New  World  of 
letters  sent  to  the  Old."  Our  literature  has  had  many 
"  ambassadors  "  since ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  any  other 
has  ever  been  more  cordially  welcomed  or  more  pleasantly 
remembered. 

i^-        Washington  Irving  was  born  in  the  city  of   New  York, 
April  3,   1783,  the  youngest  of  eleven  children.     The  Revo- 
lutionary War  was  ended,   and  the  American  army  occupied 
-the  city.      "Washington's  work  is  ended,"  said  the  mother, 

|  "and  the  child  shall  be  named  after  him."  Six  years  later, 
7  when  Washington  had  become  the  first  President  of  the  young 
republic,  a  Scotch  maid-servant  of  the  Irving  family  one  day 
followed  him  into  a  shop.  "Please,  your  honor,"  said  she, 
"here's  a  bairn  was  named  after  you."  With  grave  dignity 
the  President  laid  his  hand  on  the  child's  head,  and  bestowed 
his  blessing. 

£       Not  much  can  be  said  of  young  Irving' s  education.     Like 
many  another  brilliant  writer  in  English  literature,  he  took 


WASHINGTON  IRVING.  1 09 

but  little  interest  in  the  prescribed  courses  of  study.     As  was 

^  said  of  Shakespeare,  he  knew  little  Latin  and  less  Greek. 
But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  his  early  years  went 
unimproved.  His  literary  bent  asserted  itself  in  the  neglect 
of  such  studies  as  did  not  interest  him.  During  his  boyhood 

in  he  was  an  eager  reader.  Books  of  poetry  and  travel  were 
quickly  devoured.  The  creative  literary  impulse  was  early 
manifested  in  the  composition  of  verses  and  childish  plays. 
Two  of  his  brothers  had  been  sent  to  Columbia  College. 
But  his  disinclination  to  methodical  study  deprived  him  of 
this  privilege.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well;  for  his  genius 
was  left  freer  to  pursue  its  own  development.  At  sixteen 

)(  he  entered  a  law  office;  but  from  what  has  already  been  said, 

it  will  not  appear  strange  that  he  neglected  his  law-books  for 

works  of  literature.      In  1798  he  spent  a  part  of  his  summer 

vacation  in  exploring  with  his  gun  the  Sleepy  Hollow  region 

1^1 which  he  was  afterwards  to  immortalize  with  the  magic  of  his 

**  pen.  At  this  period  he  showed  symptoms  of  pulmonary  weak- 
ness; and  for  several  years  he  spent  much  time  in  out-door  ex- 
ercise, making  excursions  along  the  Hudson  and  the  Mohawk. 
Though  he  did  not  at  the  time  turn  his  experience  to  account 
in  a  literary  way,  he  was  all  the  while,  perhaps  unconsciously 
to  himself,  storing  up  materials  for  future  use. 

In  1804  it  was  thought  that  a  voyage  to  Europe  would  be 
beneficial  to  his  health.  Accordingly  he  took  passage  for 
Bordeaux  in  a  sailing-vessel.  "There's  a  chap,"  said  the 
captain  to  himself  as  young  Irving  went  on  board,  "that 
will  go  overboard  before  we  get  across."  But  the  gloomy 
prediction  was  not  fulfilled;  and  after  a  voyage  of  six  weeks 
—  it  was  not  the  day  of  ocean  greyhounds  —  he  reached  hi: 
destination  much  improved  in  health. 

H^.  He  visited  in  succession  the  principal  cities  of  France  and 
Italy.  He  had  not  yet  found  his  vocation,  and  his  life  abroad 
appears  sufficiently  aimless.  He  gave  free  play  to  his  large 
social  nature,  and  to  the  ordinary  observer  he  seemed  a  mere 
pleasure-seeker.  But  he  was  accomplishing  more  than  he  or 


IIO  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

his  friends  understood.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of  many 
eminent  persons,  and  his  genial  nature  and  pleasing  manners 
made  him  welcome  in  the  brilliant  social  circles  to  which 
he  was  introduced.  He  had  an  opportunity  to  study  Euro- 
pean society  in  all  its  phases.  He  added  to  his  knowledge 
of  English  literature  an  acquaintance  with  the  literatures  of 
France  and  Italy.  He  was  brought  into  sympathetic  contact 
with  the  art  and  antiquities  of  Europe.  He  was  one  of  the 
keenest  observers.  While  thus  storing  his  memory  with  knowl- 
edge afterwards  to  be  invaluable  to  him,  his  culture  was  ex- 
panding into  the  breadth  of  cosmopolitan  sympathies. 

He  met  the  inconveniences  and  discomforts  inseparable 
from  travel  in  those  days  with  a  truly  philosophic  spirit. 
^  "When  I  cannot  get  a  dinner  to  suit  my  taste,"  he  said,  "1 
\lj  endeavor  to  get  a  taste  to  suit  my  dinner."  He  was  no  chronic 
grumbler.  He  made  it  a  habit  all  through  life  to  look  on 
the  pleasant  side  of  things.  "I  endeavor,"  he  said,  "to  be 
pleased  with  everything  about  me,  and  with  the  masters,  mis- 
tresses, and  servants  of  the  inns,  particularly  when  I  perceive 
they  have  all  the  dispositions  in  the  world  to  serve  me;  as 
Sterne  says,  '  It  is  enough  for  heaven  and  ought  to  be  enough 
for  me. '  " 

He  did  not  carry  with  him  in  his  travels  the  statesman's 
interest  in  the  political  condition  of  Europe.  Politics  were 
never  to  his  taste.  He  preferred  to  wander  over  the  scenes  of 
renowned  achievement,  to  loiter  about  the  ruined  castle,  to 
lose  himself  among  the  shadowy  grandeurs  of  the  past.  The 
pathetic  constancy  of  Petrarch  for  Laura  appealed  to  him 
more  than  the  meteoric  splendor  of  Napoleon. 
ify  In  the  course  of  his  travels  he  visited  Rome,  where  he  met 
Washington  Allston.  The  acquaintance  for  a  time  threatened 
to  change  the  course  of  his  life.  Allston's  enthusiasm  for 
art  proved  contagious.  The  charm  of  the  Italian  landscape, 
the  inestimable  treasures  of  art  in  the  city  of  the  Caesars, 
made  a  profound  impression  on  Irving's  refined  and  poetic 
sensibilities.  For  a  time  he  thought  of  becoming  a  painter. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING.  1 1  I 

As  we  may  clearly  discern  in  his  writings,  he  had  an  artistic 
eye  for  color  and  form.  Had  he  adhered  to  this  temporary 
purpose,  it  is  possible  that  he  might,  like  his  friend  and  com- 
patriot, have  given  us  some  admirable  paintings.  But  it  is 
well-nigh  certain  that  the  world  would  have  been  the  loser; 
for  what  pictures  could  compensate  for  the  loss  of  the  "  Sketch- 
Book, "  " Bracebridge  Hall,"  and  the  "Tales  of  a  Traveller"? 

Irving  returned  to  America  in  1806,  and  was  admitted  to 
"T  the  bar.  His  legal  attainments  were  slender,  and  his  interest 
in  his  profession  superficial.  Instead  of  throwing  his  heart 
into  it,  he  allowed  much  of  his  time  and  energy  to  be  absorbed 
in  social  enjoyments.  At  this  period  he  first  gave  decided 
indications  of  his  future  career.  A  strong  literary  instinct 
is  irrepressible.  In  association  with  his  brother  William  and 
James  K.  Paulding,  he  issued  a  semi-monthly  periodical,  en- 
titled Salmagundi,  It  was  an  imitation  of  the  Spectator,  and 
aimed  "simply  to  instruct  the  young,  reform  the  old,  cor- 
rect the  town,  and  castigate  the  age."  The  writers  veiled 
themselves  in  mystery.  They  affected  utter  indifference  to 
either  praise  or  blame,  and  with  lofty  superiority  criticised  the 
manners  of  the  town.  The  wit  and  humor  were  delightful,  and 
from  the  start  the  paper  had  a  flattering  success.  But  after 
running  through  twenty  numbers,  it  stopped  in  the  midst  of 
its  success  as  suddenly  as  it  had  burst  upon  the  astonished 
community. 

It  was  almost  inevitable  that  Irving  should  be  drawn  into 
politics.  With  no  taste  for  law,  he  found  it  tedious  waiting 
for  clients  who  never  came.  Local  politics  seemed  to  pre- 
sent an  inviting  field;  but  a  brief  experience  was  enough.  He 
toiled  "through  the  purgatory"  of  one  election.  He  got 
through  the  first  two  days  pretty  well.  Among  his  new  as- 
sociates he  kept  on  the  lookout  for  "whim,  character,  and 
absurdity."  Then  the  duties  of  a  ward  politician  began  to 
pall  upon  him.  Referring  with  characteristic  humor  to  his 
unsavory  experience,  he  wrote :  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to  bear 
the  smell  of  small  beer  and  tobacco  for  a  month  to  come." 


1 1 2  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

£-0  Irving  early  had  his  romance,  and  it  makes  the  most  pa- 
thetic incident  in  his  life.  He  formed  a  deep  attachment  for 
Matilda  Hoffman,  a  young  lady  of  great  personal  charm.  His 
love  was  as  ardently  returned.  But  before  the  wedding-day 
arrived,  she  fell  sick  and  died.  He  never  entirely  recovered 
from  this  loss,  which  seems  to  have  tinged  his  character  ever 
afterwards  with  a  gentle  melancholy.  With  a  constancy  as 
beautiful  as  it  is  rare,  he  remained  faithful  to  his  first  love 
throughout  life. 

It  was  while  burdened  with  a  sense  of  his  irreparable  loss 
that  he  completed  the  work  that  was  to  make  him  famous. 
This  was  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York."  It  is  a 
humorous  treatment  of  the  traditions  and  customs  belonging 
to  the  period  of  the  Dutch  domination.  The  personal  charac- 
teristics of  the  phlegmatic  Dutch  governors,  and  the  leading 
events  in  the  early  history  of  the  city,  are  treated  in  a  delight 
ful,  mock-heroic  vein.  The  work  was  received  with  almost 
universal  acclaim.  It  became  a  household  word.  After  a 
lapse  of  forty  years,  Irving  tells  us  that  he  found  New  York- 
ers of  Dutch  descent  priding  themselves  on  being  "genuine 
Knickerbockers. " 

The  next  five  years  of  Irving's  life  were  neither  very  serious 
nor  very  fruitful.  Though  so  strongly  drawn  to  literature  that 
he  was  scarcely  fit  for  anything  else,  he  was  afraid  to  adopt  a 
literary  career.  He  entered  into  a  mercantile  partnership  with 
his  brothers,  in  which  he  was  required  to  do  but  little  work. 
In  the  interests  of  the  firm,  when  Congress  threatened  some 
legislation  unfavorable  to  importing  merchants,  he  made  a 
visit  to  Washington.  But  there,  as  well  as  in  Philadelphia  and 
Baltimore,  social  pleasures  occupied  him  more  than  the  action 
of  Congress.  He  steadily  refused  to  look  on  the  darlier  side 
of  human  nature  or  human  life.  He  would  not  believe  that 
wisdom  consists  in  a  knowledge  of  the  wickedness  of  men,  and 
confessed  that  he  entertained  "a  most  melancholy  good  opin- 
ion and  good  will  for  the  great  mass  of  my  fellow-creatures." 

While  in  Washington  he  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  leading 


WASHING  TON  IK  VING.  1 1 3 

men  of  the  country.  Though  his  sympathies  were  with  the 
Federalists,  he  was  not  a  violent  partisan.  He  was  far  too 
broad-minded  to  become  a  bigot  in  either  religion  or  politics. 
He  was  on  good  terms  with  the  leaders  of  both  political  par- 
ties, and  laughed  equally  at  their  extravagance.  "One  day," 
he  writes,  "  I  am  dining  with  a  knot  of  honest,  furious  Feder- 
alists, who  are  damning  all  their  opponents  as  a  set  of  con- 
summate scoundrels,  panders  to  Bonaparte,  etc.  The  next  day 
I  dine,  perhaps,  with  some  of  the  very  men  I  have  heard  thus 
anathematized,  and  find  them  equally  honest,  warm,  and  indig- 
nant; and,  if  I  take  their  word  for  it,  I  had  been  dining  the 
day  before  with  some  of  the  greatest  knaves  in  the  nation, 
men  absolutely  paid  and  suborned  by  the  British  government. " 
For  a  time  the  business  of  his  brothers  (they  were  impor- 
ters of  hardware  and  cutlery)  required  his  services  at  the  store 

ij  pretty  constantly.  The  work  was  distasteful  to  him  beyond 
measure.  "By  all  the  martyrs  of  Grub  Street,"  he  exclaimed, 
"I'd  sooner  live  in  a  garret,  and  starve  into  the  bargain,  than 
follow  so  sordid,  dusty,  and  soul-killing  a  way  of  life,  though 
certain  it  would  make  me  as  rich  as  old  Croesus,  or  John  Jacob 
Astor  himself."  He  became  editor  of  a  periodical  called  Select 
Reviews,  for  which  he  wrote  some  biographies  and  sketches, 
a  few  of  which  afterwards  appeared  in  the  "Sketch  Book." 
But  he  soon  grew  tired  of  his  position,  for  he  had  an  invinci- 
ble aversion  to  regular  work. 

A  ^"~The  year  the  second  war  with  Great  Britain  closed,  Irving 
sailed  for  Europe,  where  the  next  seventeen  years  of  his  life 
were  spent,  —  years  rich  in  experience  and  literary  activity.  It 
was  during  this  period  that  a  number  of  his  choicest  works 
were  produced.  His  reputation  as  the  author  of  "Knicker- 
bocker" made  him  a  welcome  guest  in  literary  circles.  In 
London  he  dined  at  Murray's,  where  he  met  some  of  the  nota- 
ble writers  of  the  day.  He  was  cordially  received  at  Edin- 
burgh; and  he  spent  some  days  with  Scott,  of  whose  home 
and  habits  he  has  given  so  delightful  a  description  in  "  Abbots- 
ford." 


114  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

As  we  should  naturally  expect,  Irving  was  a  great  admirer 
of  Isaac  Walton.  He  made  more  than  one  visit  to  the  haunts 
of  the  illustrious  angler.  On  one  occasion  he  wandered  by  the 
banks  of  the  romantic  Dove  in  company  with  a  "lovely  girl," 
who  pointed  out  to  him  the  beauties  of  the  surrounding  sce- 
nery, and  repeated  "  in  the  most  dulcet  voice  tracts  of  heaven - 
born  poetry." 

/  Upon  the  failure  of  the  branch  house  of  his  brothers  in 
ff~  Liverpool,  he  went  to  London  to  embark  upon  the  literary 
career  for  which  nature  had  so  evidently  intended  him.  He 
was  urged  by  Scott  to  become  editor  of  an  anti-Jacobin  peri- 
odical in  Edinburgh.  This  he  refused  to  do  for  two  reasons 
already  familiar  to  us,  — his  distaste  for  politics,  and  his  aver- 
sion to  regular  literary  work.  He  also  declined  an  offer  to 
become  a  contributor  of  the  London  Quarterly,  with  the  liberal 
pay  of  one  hundred  guineas  an  article.  "  It  has  always  been 
so  hostile  to  my  country,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  draw  a  pen  in 
its  service."  This  is  the  language  of  high-toned  patriotism. 

In  1819  he  began  the  publication  of  the  "Sketch -Book." 
It  was  written  in  England,  and  sent  over  to  New  York,  where  it 
was  issued  in  octavo  numbers.  Some  of  them  were  reprinted 
in  London  without  the  author's  consent;  and  to  prevent  the 
entire  work  from  being  pirated,  Irving  found  it  necessary  to 
bring  out  an  edition  in  England.  After  once  declining  it  in 
the  polite  manner  for  which  publishers  have  become  noted, 
Murray  was  afterwards  persuaded  by  Scott  to  bring  out  the 
work.  He  purchased  the  copyright  for  two  hundred  pounds, 
"  which,  with  noteworthy  liberality,  he  subsequently  raised  to 
four  hundred. 

In  comparing  the  "  Sketch  Book "  with  Irving's  previous 
work,  it  is  impossible  not  to  perceive  his  intellectual  develop- 
ment. He  has  acquired  a  greater  depth  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing. His  sympathies  have  gained  in  scope.  His  hand  has 
acquired  a  more  exquisite  touch.  As  a  natural  result  of  the 
tribulations  through  which  he  had  passed,  a  number  of  the 
sketches  are  tinged  with  sadness.  In  only  two  of  them  does 


WASHING  TON  IR  VI NG.  I  1 5 

he  give  rein  to  his  inimitable  humor;  but  these  two,  "Rip 
Van  Winkle"  and  the  "Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,"  will  en- 
dure as  long  as  the  beautiful  region  with  which  they  are  asso- 
ciated. The  "Sketch  Book"  exerted  an  important  influence 
upon  American  literature.  While  stimulating  our  writers  with 
the  bright  possibilities  before  them,  it  rendered  henceforth 
inartistic  or  slovenly  work  intolerable. 

The  applause  with  which  America  greeted  the  appearance 
of  the  "  Sketch  Book "  was  echoed  by  England.  Irving  be- 
came the  lion  of  the  day.  There  seemed  to  be  "a  kind  of 
conspiracy,"  as  some  one  wrote  at  the  time,  "to  hoist  him 
over  the  heads  of  his  contemporaries."  But  he  was  not  elated 
by  his  success.  Vanity  is  a  vice  of  smaller  souls.  "I  feel 
almost  appalled  by  such  success,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "and 
fearful  that  it  cannot  be  real,  or  that  it  is  not  fully  merited,  or 
that  I  shall  not  act  up  to  the  expectations  that  may  be  formed." 

In  1820  Irving  made  a  visit  to  Paris,  where  his  reputation 
secured  him  flattering  recognition.  Here  he  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Thomas  Moore,  whom  he  characterized  as  a 
"noble-hearted,  manly,  spirited  little  fellow,  with  a  mind  as 
generous  as  his  fancy  is  brilliant."  A  warm  friendship  sprang 
up  between  them.  Irving  found  too  many  distractions  in  Paris 
to  do  much  literary  work.  An  eruptive  malady,  which  ap- 
peared in  his  ankles  and  at  intervals  incapacitated  him  for 
walking,  sometimes  rendered  literary  composition  difficult 
or  impossible.  Notwithstanding  these  hindrances  he  wrote 
"Bracebridge  Hall,"  which  was  published  in  1822,  the  year  of 
his  return  to  England.  It  is  made  up  of  a  series  of  delight- 
ful sketches,  chiefly  descriptive  of  country  life  in  England. 
He  had  traversed  that  country,  as  he  tells  us,  "a  grown-up 
child,  delighted  by  every  object,  great  and  small."  His  deli- 
cate and  genial  observation  caught  much  of  the  poetry,  pictur- 
esqueness,  and  humor  of  English  life.  It  shows  the  same 
exquisite  workmanship  that  characterized  the  "  Sketch  Book;  " 
and  some  of  its  stories,  like  "The  Stout  Gentleman,"  "Annette 
Delarbre,"  and  "  Dolph  Heyleger,"  are  models  of  brilliant  and 


Il6  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

effective  narrative.  It  is  significant  of  Irving's  growing  repu- 
tation that  Murray  paid  a  thousand  pounds  for  the  copyright. 

After  a  visit  to  Dresden,  where  he  found  congenial  society 
in  an  English  family,  and  a  trip  to  Prague,  which  still  kept  up 
"its  warrior  look,"  we  find  him  in  1823  again  in  Paris.  Its 
gayeties  had  an  attraction  for  him.  He  worked  at  irregular 
intervals,  for  he  was  almost  wholly  dependent  upon  impulse 
or  inspiration.  When  the  inspiration  was  on  him,  he  wrote 
very  rapidly;  and  having  once  begun  a  book,  he  labored  dili- 
gently till  it  was  completed.  The  following  year  his  "Tales 
of  a  Traveller"  appeared,  one  of  his  most  delightful  books. 
Irving  himself  said  that  "  there  was  more  of  an  artistic  touch 
about  it,  though  this  is  not  a  thing  to  be  appreciated  by  the 
many."  He  sold  the  copyright  to  Murray  for  fifteen  hundred 
pounds,  and,  according  to  Moore,  might  have  had  two  thou- 
sand; but  it  was  no  part  of  his  genius  to  drive  shrewd  bargains. 

But  the  time  had  now  come  for  him  to  open  a  new  vein. 
In  1826,  at  the  invitation  of  Alexander  H.  Everett,  United 
States  Minister  at  Madrid,  he  went  to  the  Spanish  capital  for 
the  purpose  of  translating  a  recent  collection  of  documents 
relating  to  the  voyages  of  Columbus.  He  found  a  rich  store 
of  materials  that  had  never  been  utilized,  and  resolved  to 
write  an  independent  work.  The  result  was  the  publication 
in  1828  of  his  "Life  and  Voyages  of  Christopher  Columbus," 
a  work  of  extensive  research  and  admirable  treatment.  It  was 
eagerly  read,  and  Jeffrey  declared  that  no  work  would  ever 
supersede  it.  It  at  once  gave  Irving  an  honorable  place  among 
historians. 

The  "Conquest  of  Granada,"  the  most  interesting,  perhaps, 
of  his  Spanish  works,  was  closely  related  to  the  "  Life  of 
Columbus."  It  was  while  pursuing  his  researches  for  the 
latter  work  that  he  became  interested  in  the  stirring  and 
romantic  scenes  connected  with  the  overthrow  of  the  Moorish 
dominion  in  Spain.  Subsequently  he  made  a  tour  of  Anda- 
lusia, and  visited  the  towns,  fortresses,  and  mountain-passes 
that  had  been  the  scenes  of  the  most  remarkable  events  of  the 


WASHING  TON  IK  VING.  1 1  / 

war.  He  passed  some  time  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  the  once  favorite  abode  of  the  Moorish  monarchs. 
With  these  scenes  fresh  in  his  mind,  he  wrote  the  "  Conquest 
of  Granada;  "  and  though  he  allowed  himself  some  freedom 
in  its  romantic  coloring  (for  the  subject  appealed  strongly  to 
his  imagination),  he  remained  faithful  to  historical  fact.  It 
is  a  graphic  and  thrilling  narrative  of  romantic  events. 

Of  his  other  Spanish  works  —  "The  Alhambra,"  "Legends 
of  the  Conquest  of  Spain,"  and  "  Mahomet  and  his  Successors" 
—  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak.  The  subjects  were  all  emi- 
nently congenial  to  his  mind,  and  susceptible  of  his  peculiar 
felicity  of  treatment.  They  sustained,  if  they  did  not  add  to, 
his  growing  fame.  Literary  honors  were  bestowed  upon  him. 
In  1830  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature  in  England  awarded 
him  a  gold  medal ;  and  the  year  following  the  University  of 
Oxford  conferred  upon  him  the  degree  of  LL.  D., — a  title 
which  his  modesty  never  permitted  him  to  use. 

In  1829  Irving  left  Spain,  and  served  for  some  time  as 
Secretary  of  Legation  at  the  Court  of  St.  James.  It  was  a 
period  of  great  social  and  political  unrest  in  England  and 
France;  and,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  took  a  keen  interest  in 
current  events.  He  visited  again  many  points  of  interest  in 
England,  and  had  the  melancholy  pleasure  of  seeing  Scott 
in  the  sad  eclipse  of  his  powers. 

^\  In  1832,  after  an  absence  of  seventeen  years,  he  returned 
to  his  native  land,  and  was  accorded  an  enthusiastic  welcome 
as  its  most  distinguished  representative  in  the  world  of  letters. 
Nothing  but  his  modest  shrinking  from  publicity  prevented 
a  round  of  banquets  in  various  cities.  He  was  delighted  to 
note  the  great  progress  the  nation  had  made  during  his  absence. 
i  To  acquaint  himself  more  fully  with  its  resources  and  develop- 
ment, he  visited  different  parts  of  the  country.  His  "Tour  on 
the  Prairies"  embodies  the  observations  and  experiences  of  a 
trip  to  the  region  beyond  the  Mississippi,  still  the  haunt  of 
the  buffalo  and  wild  Indian. 

^A        With  his  simple   and  quiet  tastes,  Irving  now  longed  for 


Il8  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

a  home.  Accordingly  he  purchased  a  little  farm  at  a  lovely 
spot  on  the  Hudson,  not  far  from  the  Sleepy  Hollow  he  had 
immortalized.  The  house  was  remodelled,  and  the  grounds 
arranged  in  exquisite  taste.  To  this  charming  residence  he 
gave  the  name  of  Sunnyside.  He  received  under  his  roof  a 
number  of  near  relatives,  including  a  half  dozen  nieces,  for 
whom  he  showed  an  affection  as  tender  as  it  was  admirable. 
Henceforth  Sunnyside  became  to  him  the  dearest  spot  on 
earth;  he  always  left  it  with  reluctance,  and  returned  to  it 
with  eagerness.  It  was  here  that  the  greater  part  of  his  life 
was  spent  after  his  return  to  America.  Few  persons  have  been 
happier  in  their  surroundings. 

The  ten  years  succeeding  his  return  to  America  were,  upon 
the  whole,  delightful  to  him.  He  had  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  relish  the  quiet  of  his  picturesque  home.  He  was 
honored  as  the  leading  American  writer  of  his  day.  But  more 
than  that,  he  was  esteemed  for  his  excellence  of  character. 
It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  he  was  the  most  prominent 
private  citizen  of  the  republic.  Almost  any  political  position 
to  which  he  might  have  aspired  was  within  his  reach.  But 
a  public  career  was  not  to  his  taste.  He  declined  to  be 
a  candidate  for  mayor  of  New  York  —  which  cost  perhaps 
no  great  struggle.  But  a  seat  in  Mr.  Van  Buren's  cabinet  as 
Secretary  of  the  Navy  was  likewise  declined.  The  life  of  a 
government  officer  in  Washington  possessed  no  attractions  for 
him,  and  his  sensitive  nature  shrank  from  the  personal  attacks 
to  which  prominent  officials  are  exposed. 

During  the  ten  years  under  consideration,  he  was  busy 
with  his  pen.  He  became  a  regular  contributor  to  the  Knick- 
erbocker Magazine  at  a  salary  of  two  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
In  addition  to  the  "Tour  on  the  Prairies  "  already  mentioned, 
he  wrote  "Abbotsford"  and  "  Newstead  Abbey"  —  admira- 
ble sketches  of  the  homes  of  Scott  and  Byron.  "Captain 
Bonneville"  is  a  story  of  adventure  in  the  far  West.  It  de- 
scribes in  a  very  vivid  way  the  wild,  daring,  reckless  life  of 
the  hunter,  trapper,  and  explorer.  Among  the  literary  schemes 


WASHINGTON  IRVING.  I  19 

of  this  period  must  be  mentioned  his  contemplated  history  of 
the  conquest  of  Mexico.  It  was  a  theme  well  suited  to  his 
talents,  and  his  previous  work  on  Spanish  subjects  fitted  him 
for  the  task.  He  had  collected  a  large  amount  of  material,  and 
composed  the  first  chapter;  but  learning  that  Mr.  Prescott  de- 
sired to  treat  the  subject,  Irving  magnanimously  abandoned  it. 
It  was  a  great  personal  sacrifice.  "I  was  dismounted  from  my 
cheval  de  bataiHe, "  he  wrote  years  afterwards,  "  and  have  never 
been  completely  mounted  since."  In  spite  of  Mr.  Prescott's 
splendid  work,  we  cannot  help  regretting  that  Irving  gave  up 
his  cherished  theme. 

o  t  In  1842  the  quiet  but  busy  literary  life  of  Irving  was  inter- 
rupted by  his  appointment  as  minister  to  Spain.  The  nomina- 
tion was  suggested  by  Webster.  In  the  Senate,  Clay,  who  was 
opposing  nearly  all  of  the  President's  appointments,  exclaimed, 
"Ah,  this  is  a  nomination  that  everybody  will  concur  in!" 
The  appointment  was  confirmed  almost  by  acclamation.  The 
appointment  was  a  surprise  to  Irving;  and,  while  he  could 
not  be  insensible  to  the  honor,  its  acceptance  cost  him  pain. 
It  necessitated  a  protracted  absence  from  his  beloved  Sunny- 
side.  "It  is  hard,  —  very  hard,"  he  was  heard  murmuring 
to  himself;  "yet  I  must  try  to  bear  it." 

There  is  not  space  to  follow  him  in  his  diplomatic  career. 
It  was  a  turbulent  period  in  Spain;  but  he  discharged  the 
somewhat  difficult  duties  of  his  post,  not  only  with  fidelity, 
but  also  with  ability.  But  the  splendors  of  court  life  had  lost 
their  charm  for  him.  From  the  pomp  of  the  Spanish  capital 
his  heart  fondly  turned  to  his  home  on  the  Hudson.  "  I  long 
to  be  once  more  back  at  dear  little  Sunnyside,"  he  wrote  in 
1845,  "while  I  have  yet  strength  and  good  spirits  to  enjoy 
the  simple  pleasures  of  the  country,  and  to  rally  a  happy 
family  group  once  more  about  me."  He  gave  up  his  mission 
in  1846. 

The  year  of  his  return  to  America  he  published  his  "Life 
of  Goldsmith,"  which  is  one  of  the  most  charming  biogra- 
phies ever  written.  There  was  not  a  little  in  common  between 


1 2O  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Irving  and  Goldsmith.  They  had  alike  a  tender  and  indulgent 
regard  for  the  world;  they  had  felt  the  same  roving  disposi- 
tion; they  possessed  a  similar  mastery  of  exquisite  English. 
"Perhaps  it  is  significant  of  a  deeper  unity  in  character,"  to 
borrow  a  delightful  touch  from  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  "that 
both,  at  times,  fancied  they  could  please  an  intolerant  world 
by  attempting  to  play  the  flute."  Irving's  treatment  of  Gold- 
smith is  exquisitely  sympathetic.  "Mahomet  and  his  Suc- 
cessors "  appeared  in  1849,  and  is  a  popular  rather  than  a 
profound  treatise.  Irving's  greatest  work  in  the  department 
of  history  was  his  "Life  of  Washington."  The  last  volume 
was  published  in  1859,  shortly  before  his  death.  It  was  the 
work  of  his  ripe  old  age,  and  is  a  masterpiece  of  biography. 
It  is  clear  in  its  arrangement,  admirable  in  its  proportion, 
impartial  in  its  judgments,  and  finished  in  its  style. 

The  closing  years  of  his  life  were  serene  and  happy.  He 
held  a  high  place  in  the  affection  of  his  countrymen.  He  was 
surrounded  by  the  quiet  domestic  joys  that  he  loved  so  well. 
His  labors  on  the  life  of  the  great  hero  whose  name  he  had 
received  three  quarters  of  a  century  before  were  thoroughly 
congenial.  Thus  he  lived  on,  retaining  his  kindly  feeling  for 
the  world,  till  the  death  summons  suddenly  came,  Nov.  28, 
1859.  Although  he  had  reached  an  age  beyond  the  usual 
period  allotted  to  man,  the  tidings  of  his  death  were  received 
throughout  the  country  with  profound  sorrow.  But  grief  was 
deepest  among  those  who  had  known  him  most  intimately. 
His  unpretending  neighbors  and  the  little  children  wept  around 
his  grave. 

What  Irving  was,  has  been  indicated  in  some  measure  in 
the  course  of  this  sketch.  He  had  a  large,  generous  nature, 
the  kindliness  of  which  is  everywhere  apparent.  Through  his 
wide  reading  and  extensive  travels,  he  acquired  a  culture  of 
great  breadth.  He  was  at  home  with  the  explorer  on  the 
prairie,  or  with  the  sovereign  in  his  court.  The  gentle  ele- 
ments predominated  in  his  character;  he  was  not  inclined 
to  make  war  upon  mankind,  and  with  savage  zeal  to  denounce 


WASHINGTON  IRVING.  121 

their  wickedness  and  shams.  He  was  an  observer  of  humanity 
rather  than  a  reformer;  and  he  reported  what  he  saw  with  all 
the  grace  of  a  rich  imagination  and  delicate  humor.  He  was 
always  loyal  to  truth  and  right.  But  in  dealing  with  human 
frailty,  his  severest  weapon  was  kindly  satire.  He  evoked  a 
smile  at  the  foibles  and  eccentricities  of  men.  His  heart  was 
of  womanly  tenderness;  and  for  the  sorrows  and  misfortunes 
of  men  he  had  tears  of  sympathy.  The  death  of  such  a 
man  is  a  loss,  not  only  to  literature,  but,  what  is  much  more, 
to  humanity  itself. 


122  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


JAMES  FENIMORE    COOPER. 

I  COOPER  deserves  the  honor  of  being  the 'most  national 
of  our  writers.  He  was  less  influenced  by  foreign  models 
and  foreign  subjects  than  any  of  his  great  contemporaries. 
The  works  upon  which  his  fame  chiefly  rests  are  thoroughly 
American.  He  was  the  first  fully  to  grasp  and  treat  the 
stores  of  materials  to  be  found  in  the  natural  scenery,  early 
history,  and  pioneer  life  of  this  Republic.  He  was  at  home 
alike  on  land  and  sea;  and  in  his  narrations  he  spoke  from 
the  fulness  of  his  own  observation  and  experience,  and  gave 
us  pictures  of  those  early  days  which  will  grow  in  interest  as 
they  are  removed  farther  from  us  by  the  lapse  of  time.  He 
opened  a  new  vein  of  thought.  It  was  largely  owing  to  this 
freshness  of  subject  and  treatment  that'  his  works  attained  an 
extraordinary  popularity,  not  alone  in  this  country,  but  also  in 
Europe.  They  came  as  a  revelation  to  the  Old  World,  which 
had  grown  tired  of  well-worn  themes.  They  were  eagerly 
seized  upon,  and  translated  into  nearly  every  European  tongue, 
and  even  into  some  of  the  languages  of  the  Orient.  No  other 
American  writer  has  been  so  extensively  read. 

James  Fenimore  Cooper  was  born  at  Burlington,  N.J., 
Sept.  15,  1789,  the  eleventh  of  twelve  children.  His  father 
was  of  Quaker  and  his  mother  of  Swedish  descent.  When  he 
was  thirteen  months  old,  the  family  moved  to  Cooperstown,  on 
the  southeastern  shore  of  Otsego  Lake,  in  the  central  part  of 
New  York.  In  this  picturesque  region,  diversified  with  moun- 
tains, lakes,  and  woods,  the  childhood  of  Cooper  was  passed. 
It  was  at  that  time  on  the  borders  of  civilization,  and  the  little 
village  presented  a  striking  mixture  of  nationalities  and  occu- 
pations. Along  with  German,  French,  and  Irish  adventurers 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER. 


JAMES  FEN  I  MO  RE    COOPER.  123 

were  found  the  backwoodsman,  the  hunter,  and  the  half -civil- 
ized Indian. '/  The  deep  impression  made  upon  young  Cooper's 
mind  by  the  wild  scenery  and  unsettled  life  about  him  is 
shown  in  the  fact  that  he  located  three  of  his  novels  in  this 
region. 

Cooper's  education  presents  the  melancholy  story  so  often 
met  with  in  the  lives  of  literary  men.  He  took  but  little 
interest  in  his  studies.  His  first  instruction  was  received  in 
the  academy  at  Cooperstown,  where,  in  spite  of  its  pretentious 
name,  the  teaching  was  crude.  He  afterwards  studied  in 
Albany  as  a  private  pupil  under  an  Episcopal  rector.  At  the 
age  of  thirteen,  Cooper  entered  the  Freshman  class  at  Yale, 
the  youngest  student  but  one  in  the  college.  According  to 
his  own  confession,  he  played  all  the  first  year,  and  there  is 
nothing  to  show  that  he  did  better  afterwards.  In  place  of 
digging  at  his  Latin  and  Greek,  he  delighted  in  taking  long 
walks  about  the  wooded  hills  and  beautiful  bay  of  New  Haven. 
Nature  was  more  to  him  than  books,  a  preference  that  college 
faculties  are  generally  slow  to  appreciate.  At  last  in  his  third 
year  he  engaged  in  some  mischief  that  led  to  his  dismissal 
from  the  college.  This  failure  in  his  education  was  peculiarly 
unfortunate.  His  lack  of  a  refined  and  scholarly  taste  has  tol- 
erated in  his  works  a  crudeness  of  form  that  largely  detracts 
from  their  excellence. 

It  was  now  decided  that  Cooper  should  enter  the  navy. 
The  influence  of  his  father,  who  was  a  prominent  Federalist 
and  had  been  for  several  years  a  member  of  Congress,  promised 
a  speedy  advancement.  He  began  his  apprenticeship  (there 
was  no  naval  academy  then)  in  the  merchant  marine,  and 
served  a  year  before  the  mast.  He  entered  -the  navy  as  mid- 
shipman in  January,  1808.  He  was  stationed  for  a  time  on 
Lake  Ontario,  where  he  imbibed  the  impressions  afterwards 
embodied  in  the  graphic  descriptions  of  "The  Pathfinder." 
In  1809  he  was  transferred  to  the  Wasp,  then  under  the  com- 
mand of  Lawrence,  a  hero  to  whom  he  was  warmly  attached. 
The  details  of  his  naval  career  are  scanty.  Though  it  does 


124  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

not  appear  that  he  was  engaged  in  any  thrilling  events,  he 
accumulated  a  large  store  of  incident,  and  acquired  a  techni- 
cal knowledge,  which  were  afterwards  turned  to  good  account 
in  his  admirable  sea  stories. 

His  naval  career  was  cut  short  by  his  falling  in  love.  In 
January,  1811,  he  married  a  Miss  De  Lancey,  a  lady  of  Hu- 
guenot family,  and  five  months  later  he  tendered  his  resig- 
nation in  the  navy.  He  made  no  unworthy  choice,  and  his 
domestic  life  appears  to  have  been  singularly  happy.  With  a 
sufficiently  strong,  not  to  say  obstinate,  will,  and  with  high 
notions  of  masculine  prerogative  in  the  family,  he  was  still 
largely  controlled  by  the  delicate  tact  of  his  wife,  who  always 
retained  a  strong  hold  upon  his  large  and  tender  heart.  For 
some  time  after  his  marriage  he  was  unsettled.  He  first  re- 
sided in  Westchester 'County,  New  York;  then  he  moved  to 
Cooperstown,  where  he  spent  the  next  three  years;  afterwards 
he  returned  to  Westchester,  and  occupied  a  house  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  Long  Island  Sound.  Up  to  this  time  his 
chief  occupation  had  been  farming  ;  and  he  had  shown  no 
sign  whatever  either  of  an  inclination  or  of  an  ability  to 
write. 

His  entrance  upon  a  literary  career  appears  to  have  been 
the  merest  accident.  He  was  one  day  reading  to  his  wife  a 
novel  descriptive  of  English  society.  It  did  not  please  him; 
and  at  last,  laying  it  down  with  some  impatience,  he  ex- 
claimed: "I  believe  I  could  write  a  better  story  myself." 
Challenged  to  make  good  his  boast,  he  at  once  set  himself  to 
the  task.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  treat  an  American  theme 
with  which  he  was  familiar.  America  had  achieved  her  politi- 
cal but  not  her  intellectual  independence  of  the  mother  coun- 
try. He  accordingly  produced  a  novel  of  high  life  in  England, 
which,  under  the  title  of  "Precaution,"  was  published  in  1820. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  as  an  obstacle  that  he  knew  nothing 
about  English  life.  The  day  of  an  exacting  realism  had  not 
yet  come,  and  men  were  still  permitted  to  write  of  things  that 
they  knew  nothing  about.  Of  course  the  work  was  a  failure; 


JAMES  FENIMORE    COOPER.  12$ 

but  it  came  so  near  being  a  success  that  Cooper  was  encour- 
aged to  try  his  hand  again. 

This  time  he  chose  an  American  subject,  and  without 
knowing  it  fell  into  the  vocation  for  which  his  talents  emi- 
nently fitted  him.  Years  before,  at  the  house  of  John  Jay,  he 
had  heard  the  story  of  a  Revolutionary  spy  that  deeply  im- 
pressed him.  This  story  he  made  the  basis  of  his  novel;  and 
the  scene  he  laid  in  Westchester,  with  which  his  long  resi- 
dence had  made  him  familiar,  and  which  had  been  a  battle- 
ground for  the  British  and  American  armies.  He  had  but  little 
expectation  of  its  favorable  reception.  He  doubted  whether 
his  countrymen  would  read  a  book  that  treated  of  familiar 
scenes  and  interests.  The  result  undeceived  him,  and  fixed 
him  in  the  career  to  which  he  was  to  give  the  rest  of  his  life. 
"The  Spy"  appeared  at  the  close  of  1821,  and  in  a  short  time 
"met  with  a  sale  that  was  pronounced  unprecedented  in  the 
annals  of  American  literature.  It  was  received  with  the  en- 
thusiasm that  greeted  the  successive  Waverley  novels  in  Eng- 
land. The  transatlantic  verdict,  which  was  awaited  with 
something  of  servile  trepidation,  confirmed  the  American 
judgment.  "Genius  in  America,"  said  Blackwood,  "must  keep 
to  America  to  achieve  any  great  work.  Cooper  has  done  so, 
and  taken  his  place  among  the  most  powerful  of  the  imagi- 
native spirits  of  the  age."  "The  Spy"  was  soon  translated 
into  several  European  languages  •,  and,  in  short,  k  made 
Cooper's  reputation  at  home  and  abroad. 

His  next  work  was  "The  Pioneers,"  which  was  published 
in  1823.  The  scene  is  laid  at  the  author's  early  home  on 
Otsego  Lake,  and  describes  not  only  the  natural  scenery,  but 
also  the  types  of  character  and  modes  of  living  with  which 
he  became  familiar  in  childhood.  In  producing  this  work  he 
drew  less  upon  his  imagination  than  upon  his  memory.  As  we 
read  his  life,  it  is  not  difficult  to  discover  the  originals  of  some 
of  his  leading  portraits.  The  book  was  written,  as  he  has  told 
us,  exclusively  to  please  himself;  and  he  has  dwelt  upon  sepa- 
rate scenes  and  incidents  with  such  fondness  as  seriously  to 


126  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

retard  the  story.  It  was  the  first  of  the  now  famous  "  Leather- 
stocking  Tales,"  though  hardly  the  best  of  them.  It  was 
awaited  by  the  public  with  impatience;  and  by  noon,  the  day 
of  its  appearance,  no  fewer  than  three  thousand  five  hunched 
copies  were  sold  in  New  York. 

't  Before  "The  Pioneers"  was  published  he  was  already  at 
work  upon  a  new  novel,  in  which  he  entered  an  untried  field. 
Like  his  first  work,  it  sprang  from  the  impulse  of  a  moment. 
The  author  of  "Waverley"  had  recently  published  "The 
Pirate,"  which  came  under  discussion  at  a  dinner-party  in 
Cooper's  presence.  The  nautical  passages  were  greatly  ad- 
mired, and  were  cited  as  a  proof  that  Scott,  the  lawyer  and 
poet,  could  not  have  written  it.  Cooper  dissented  from  this 
judgment,  and  boldly  challenged  the  seamanship  of  the  work. 
In  spite  of  the  nautical  knowledge  it  displayed,  it  still  be- 
trayed to  his  mind  the  hand  of  a  landsman.  "The  result  of 
this  conversation,"  to  quote  his  own  words,  "was  a  sudden 
determination  to  produce  a  work  which,  if  it  had  no  other 
merit,  might  present  truer  pictures  of  the  ocean  and  ships  than 
any  that  are  to  be  found  in  'The  Pirate.'"  Returning  home, 
with  the  plan  of  the  work  already  shaping  itself  in  his  mind, 
he  said  to  his  wife :  "  I  must  write  one  more  book —  a  sea-tale 
—  to  show  what  can  be  done  in  that  way  by  a  sailor." 

Though  he  was  discouraged  in  the  undertaking  by  his 
friends,  Cooper  wisely  followed  the  leading  of  his  genius. 
"The  Pilot"  takes  high  rank  as  a  tale  of  the  sea.  The  plot 
was  suggested  by  the  cruise  of  Paul  Jones  in  the  Ranger,  who, 
without  being  named,  occupies  the  foremost  place  in  the  story. 
The  work  appeared  in  1824,  and  at  once  attained  a  wide  popu- 
larity. Its  descriptions  of  storm,  battle,  and  shipwreck  are  ex- 
ceedingly vivid.  It  contains  the  character  of  Long  Tom  Coffin, 
who,  like  Natty  Bumppo,  or  Leatherstocking,  may  be  regarded 
as  a  permanent  contribution  to  literature.  It  was  at  once  trans- 
lated into  French,  German,  and  Italian,  and  was  scarcely  less 
popular  in  Europe  than  in  America. 

In   1826  appeared   "The   Last  of   the  Mohicans,"  which 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER.  I2/ 

occupies  a  high  rank  —  some  think  the  highest  rank — of  all 
Cooper's  works.  It  belongs  to  the  " Leatherstocking  Tales." 
The  interest  never  abates  from  beginning  to  end.  "It  is  in- 
deed an  open  question,"  says  an  admirable  critic  and  biog- 
rapher,1 "whether  a  higher  art  would  not  have  given  more 
breathing-places  in  this  exciting  tale,  in  which  the  mind  is 
hurried  without  pause  from  sensation  to  sensation."  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  its  success  was  instantaneous  and  pro- 
digious. The  novelty  of  its  scenes  and  characters,  as  well  as 
its  powerful  narrative,  gave  it  extraordinary  popularity  abroad. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  idealized  the  Indian  character. 
But  however  different  from  the  Indians  of  actual  life,  the  crea- 
tions of  Cooper  have  appealed  strongly  to  the  imaginations  of 
men. 

/)  Cooper  was  now  living  in  the  city  of  New  York,  whither  he 
had  moved  in  1822.  The  income  from  his  works  had  placed 
him  in  easy  circumstances.  His  literary  reputation,  unequalled 
by  any  other  American,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Irving, 
made  him  a  prominent  figure  in  the  social  life  of  the  city.  He 

")  founded  a  club  which  included  in  its  membership  Chancellor 
Kent,  Verplanck  the  editor  of  Shakespeare,  Jarvis  the  painter, 
Durand  the  engraver,  Wiley  the  publisher,  Morse  the  inventor 
of  the  electric  telegraph,  Halleck  and  Bryant  the  poets.  He 
was  a  regular  attendant  at  the  weekly  meetings  of  the  club,  of 
which  he  was  the  life  and  soul. 

/  The  year  "The  Last  of  the  Mohicans"  was  published, 
Cooper  carried  out  a  long  cherished  purpose  to  visit  Europe, 
where  he  spent  the  next  seven  years.  He  served  as  consul  at 
Lyons  for  nearly  three  years.  He  made  a  trip  through  Swit- 
zerland, and  visited  in  succession  Naples,  Rome,  Venice,  Mu- 
nich, and  Dresden;  but  most  of  his  time  was  spent  in  Paris. 
He  was  not  a  man  to  enjoy  being  lionized;  but  after  his 
presence  in  the  French  capital  became  known  he  could  not 
escape  from  receiving  a  full  share  of  attention.  Scott  met 
him  at  an  evening  reception,  and  noted  in  his  diary:  "Cooper 

1  Lounsbury,  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  p.  53. 


128  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

was  there,  so  the  Scotch  and  American  lions  took  the  field 
together. " 

But  Cooper's  time  abroad  was  not  exclusively  spent  in  the 
enjoyment  of  natural  scenery,  art  treasures,  and  refined  society. 
His  literary  productivity  continued  without  serious  abatement. 
Among  the  numerous  works  produced  during  his  seven  years' 
residence  abroad  there  are  two  that  deserve  particular  mention. 
"The  Prairie"  was  added  to  the  Leatherstocking  series,  and 
"The  Red  Rover  "  to  his  sea-tales.  Both  occupy  a  high  place 
among  his  works.  His  popularity  in  Europe  had  now  reached  a 
high  point.  Five  editions  of  "  The  Prairie  "  were  arranged  to 
appear  at  the  same  time,  —  two  in  Paris,  one  in  London,  one  in 
Berlin,  and  one  in  Philadelphia.  Outside  of  England  he  was, 
perhaps,  read  more  extensively  than  Scott.  "  In  every  city  of 
Europe  that  I  visited,"  wrote  the  inventor  of  the  electric  tele- 
graph, "the  works  of  Cooper  were  conspicuously  placed  in 
the  windows  of  every  bookshop.  They  are  published,  as  soon 
as  he  produces  them,  in  thirty-four  different  places  in  Europe. 
They  have  been  seen  by  American  travellers  in  the  languages 
of  Turkey  and  Persia,  in  Constantinople,  in  Egypt,  at  Jeru- 
salem, at  Ispahan." 

With  the  year  1830  closed  the  happiest  and  most  successful 
period  of  Cooper's  literary  career.  After  that  date  he  became 
involved  in  controversies  abroad  and  at  home  that  cost  him 
heavily  in  purse  and  in  popularity.  He  was  intensely  Ameri- 
can in  sentiment  —  proud  of  the  institutions,  the  material  pros- 
perity, and  the  ~apidly  growing  power  of  his  country.  With 
prophetic  foresight  he  confidently  predicted  the  growth  that  has 
since  been  realized.  With  his  honest,  positive,  and  pugnacious 
nature,  he  was  not  a  man  to  conceal  his  opinions.  He  under- 
took to  enlighten  the  ignorance  and  to  correct  the  misrepresen- 
tations of  his  country  prevalent  abroad.  He  wrote  letters, 
pamphlets,  and  books  in  defence  of  America.  Three  of  his 
novels  written  abroad  —  "The  Bravo,"  "The  Heidenmauer," 
and  "The  Headsman  "  —  were  designed  to  exalt  republican  in- 
stitutions, and  to  apply  American  principles  to  European  con- 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER.  1 29 

ditions.  The  effect  of  all  this  can  be  easily  imagined.  The 
information  he  volunteered  to  Europe,  and  especially  to  Eng- 
land, was  received  ungraciously.  His  independent  and  ag- 
gressive spirit  provoked  opposition;  his  works  were  harshly 
criticised,  and  he  himself  was  subject  to  misrepresentation  and 
detraction. 

In  1833  Cooper  returned  to  America.  After  a  brief  sojourn 
in  New  York,  he  purchased  his  father's  old  estate  at  Coopers- 
town,  and  made  that  place  his  residence  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 
His  childhood  recollections  were  dear  to  him;  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  lovely  scenery  about  Otsego  Lake  he  found  a  grateful 
repose  for  the  prosecution  of  his  literary  work.  But  his  life 
was  not  destined  to  flow  on  undisturbed.  His  long  residence 
abroad,  in  contact  with  the  repose  and  culture  of  the  Old 
World,  had  wrought  greater  changes  in  him  than  he  was  con- 
scious of.  He  no  longer  found  himself  in  sympathy  with  the 
eager,  bustling,  restless  life  of  America.  He  failed  to  appre- 
ciate the  sublimity  of  the  conflict  which  was  rapidly  subduing 
a  magnificent  continent.  Without  prudence  in  concealing  his 
sentiments,  he  proceeded  to  tell  his  countrymen  what  he  thought 
of  them.  Their  restless  energy  he  characterized  as  sordid 
greed  for  gold.  He  found  fault  with  what  he  considered  their 
lack  of  taste,  their  coarseness  of  manners,  and  their  provincial 
narrowness.  With  inconsiderate  valor  he  rushed  into  news- 
paper controversies.  In  short,  while  cherishing  a  deep  affec- 
tion for  his  country,  he  exhausted  almost  every  means  for 
achieving  a  widespread  unpopularity.  It  speedily  came;  and 
no  other  American  writer  was  ever  so  generally  and  so  venom- 
ously assailed. 

But  meekness  was  no  part  of  Cooper's  character.  He  was 
unwilling  to  rest  under  reckless  and  malicious  misrepresenta- 
tion. Accordingly  he  instituted  many  suits  for  libel  against 
prominent  papers  in  New  York,  including  the  Albany  Er suing 
Journal,  edited  by  Thurlow  Weed,  and  T/ie  Tribune,  edited  by 
Horace  Greeley.  With  the  aid  of  his  nephew,  who  was  a  law- 
yer, Cooper  conducted  the  prosecutions  himself  with  relentless 


130  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

energy,  and  showed  himself  as  effective  in  an  oral  address  be- 
fore a  jury  as  in  his  writings  before  the  public.  It  is  remark- 
able that  in  every  instance  in  which  he  pleaded  his  own  cause 
he  got  a  verdict  awarding  him  damages. 

In.  1839  he  published  his  "History  of  the  United  States 
Navy."  It  was  a  subject  in  which  he  had  long  been  interested, 
and  for  which  he  possessed  special  fitness.  Apart  from  his 
naval  experience  and  his  skill  as  a  narrator,  he  possessed  the 
sterling  integrity  of  character  that  rendered  him  painstaking 
and  impartial.  For  the  period  it  covers,  the  history  is  not 
likely  to  be  superseded.  But  it  was  impossible  that  such  a 
work  should  please  everybody.  It  gave  offence  in  England 
by  setting  forth  too  prominently  her  numerous  defeats  upon  the 
sea.  It  was  accordingly  attacked  with  great  vigor  in  some  of 
the  leading  British  reviews.  In  this  country  its  judicial  tone 
failed  to  satisfy  the  partisans  of  some  of  our  naval  heroes. 
The  newspapers  were  generally  unfriendly,  and  the  work  was 
criticised  with  great  injustice.  But  malicious  misrepresenta- 
tion Cooper  answered,  as  usual,  with  a  suit  for  libel,  in  which 
he  was  almost  invariably  successful.  At  last  he  fairly  became 
a  terror  to  editors  —  a  class  not  easily  frightened. 

The  period  between  1840  and  1850  was  one  of  great  literary 
activity.  The  motives  inspiring  this  activity  were  not  such,  in 
part  at  least,  as  to  promise  the  best  results  for  art.  Cooper 
had  lost  in  speculation,  and  found  it  necessary  to  increase  his 
resources.  He  had  a  good  many  things  to  say  to  the  American 
public  in  his  character  as  censor.  The  didactic  element  be- 
came more  prominent  in  his  works.  As  a  result,  most  of  the 
seventeen  novels  produced  in  the  decade  referred  to  add  but 
little  to  his  fame.  To  this  statement,  however,  there  are  sev- 
eral noteworthy  exceptions.  In  1840  appeared  "The  Path- 
finder," and  the  following  year  "The  Deerslayer,"  —  two  works 
that  rank  with  the  best  of  his  productions.  "The  Deerslayer" 
completed  the  Leatherstocking  series.  Following  the  life  of 
Natty  Bumppo,  and  not  the  order  of  their  composition,  this 
series  is  as  follows:  "The  Deerslayer,"  in  which  Leather- 


JAMES  FENIMORE    COOPER.  131 

stocking  appears  in  his  youth;  "The  Last  of  the  Mohicans" 
and  "The  Pathfinder,"  in  which  we  see  him  in  the  maturity  of 
his  powers;  "The  Pioneers"  and  "The  Prairie,"  in  which  are 
portrayed  his  old  age  and  death.  Cooper  counted  these  works 
as  his  best.  "  If  anything  from  the  pen  of  the  writer  of  these 
romances,"  he  said  in  his  old  age,  "is  at  all  to  outlive  himself, 
it  is  unquestionably  the  series  of  the  '  Leatherstocking  Tales.' 
To  say  this  is  not  to  predict  a  very  lasting  reputation  for  the 
series  itself,  but  simply  to  express  the  belief  that  it  will  out- 
last any  or  all  of  the  works  from  the  same  hand. "  Among  the 
other  works  of  this  period,  which  can  only  be  named,  are  "The 
Two  Admirals,"  "  Wing-and-Wing,"  "Wyandotte,"  "Afloat  and 
Ashore,"  "The  Redskins,"  and  "The  Ways  of  the  Hour." 

The  closing  years  of  Cooper's  life  were  comparatively  se- 
rene. The  storm  of  criticism  and  detraction,  against  which 
he  had  long  contended,  had  in  large  measure  abated.  He  was 
growing  again  in  favor  with  his  countrymen;  and  his  own 
feelings,  as  opposition  relaxed,  subsided  into  a  calmer  and 
kindlier  mood.  At  last  disease  laid  its  wasting  hand  upon 
his  strong  frame.  It  turned  into  an  incurable  dropsy.  When 
the  physician  told  him  there  was  no  longer  any  hope,  he  re- 
ceived the  announcement  with  the  manly  courage  that  had 
characterized  him  all  through  life.  He  gave  up  the  literary 
projects  he  was  fondly  cherishing,  and  spent  his  last  days  in 
the  cheerful  resignation  of  Christian  faith.  The  end  came 
Sept.  14,  1851,  on  the  eve  of  his  sixty-second  birthday. 

There  is  no  more  heroic  character  in  the  history  of  our 
literature.  Cooper  was  cast  in  a  large  and  rugged  mould. 
He  had  deep  convictions  ard  a  strong  will;  and  hence  he  was 
often  impatient  of  opposition,  obstinate  in  his  opinions,  and 
brusque  in  his  manners.  He  never  acquired,  and  perhaps 
never  cared  to  acquire,  a  polished  deference  to  the  views  of 
others.  He  did  not  usually  make  a  favorable  impression  on 
first  acquaintance.  But  these  defects  were  only  on  the  surface. 
He  was  frank,  honest,  fearless,  large-hearted ;  and  among  those 
who  knew  him  best,  he  inspired  a  deep  and  loyal  affection. 


132  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

He  could  not  be  tempted  to  sacrifice  principle,  to  scheme  for 
reputation,  to  stoop  to  anything  mean  and  low. 

Cooper  has  often  been  called  "  the  American  Scott ; "  and 
the  title,  though  displeasing  to  him,  is  not  wholly  undeserved. 
He  has  described  the  scenery  and  manners  of  his  native  country 
with  a  passion  and  power  scarcely  inferior  to  what  is  found  in 
the  romances  of  the  great  Scotchman.  He  has  thrown  over 
the  pioneer  life  of  America  something  of  the  same  glamour 
with  which  "  the  Wizard  of  the  North  "  has  invested  the  mediae- 
val life  of  Europe.  There  are  points  of  striking  resemblance 
in  the  characters  of  these  two  great  writers.  They  belonged 
to  the  same  type  of  strong  manhood.  They  were  alike  chival- 
rous and  patriotic.  With  abounding  physical  strength,  they 
rejoiced  in  the  companionship  of  the  woods  and  mountains. 
Their  hearts  were  open  to  the  charms  of  natural  scenery.  They 
were  both,  to  borrow  a  term  from  mental  science,  objective  rather 
than  subjective  in  their  habits  of  thought ;  and  thus  it  happens 
that  instead  of  profound  psychological  studies,  they  have  given 
us  glowing  descriptions  and  thrilling  narratives. 
3-[  Cooper's  works  do  not  exhibit  a  high  degree  of  literary  art. 
His  novels,  like  those  of  Scott,  are  characterized  by  largeness 
rather  than  by  delicacy.  He  painted  on  a  large  canvas  with  a 
heavy  brush.  He  worked  with  great  rapidity ;  and  as  a  nat- 
ural consequence  we  miss  all  refinement  .of  style.  He  is  often 
slovenly,  and  sometimes  incorrect.  The  conversations,  which 
he  introduces  freely,  are  seldom  natural,  often  bombastic,  and 
generally  tiresome.  His  plots  are  usually  defective.  His 
novels  are  made  up  of  narratives  more  or  less  closely  con- 
nected, but  not  forming  necessary  parts  in  the  development  of 
a  dramatic  story.  With  some  notable  exceptions,  his  charac- 
ters are  rather  wooden,  and  move  very  much  like  automatons. 
They  are  continually  doing  things  without  any  apparent  or 
sufficient  reason.  His  women  belong  to  the  type  which  is 
made  up,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  "  of  religion  and  female  deco- 
rum." They  are  insipid,  helpless,  vague  —  so  limited  by  a 
narrow  and  conventional  decorum  as  to  be  wholly  uninterest- 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER.  133 

ing.  They  rarely  say  anything  or  do  anything  that  shows  the 
true  womanly  spirit  of  devotion,  helpfulness,  and  self-sacrifice. 

These  are  faults  that  are  palpable  and  acknowledged.  What, 
then,  are  the  excellences  which,  triumphing  over  these  serious 
drawbacks,  still  render  Cooper  one  of  the  most  popular  of 
authors?  First,  he  had  the  power  of  graphic  description. 
Without  catching  the  spiritual  significance  of  nature,  he  yet 
presented  its  various  forms  with  extraordinary  vividness.  "  If 
Cooper,"  said  Balzac,  "  had  succeeded  in  the  painting  of  char- 
acter to  the  same  extent  that  he  did  in  the  painting  of  the 
phenomena  of  nature,  he  would  have  uttered  the  last  word  of 
our  art." 

But  above  this  and  above  every  other  quality  is  Cooper's 
power  as  a  narrator.  It  is  here  that  his  genius  manifests  itself 
in  its  full  power.  His  best  novels  are  made  up  of  a  succession 
of  interesting  or  exciting  events,  which  he  narrates  with  su- 
preme art.  We  realize  every  detail,  and  often  follow  the  story 
with  breathless  interest.  Cooper  is  an  author,  not  for  literary 
critics,  but  for  general  readers.  In  the  words  of  Bryant,  "he 
wrote  for  mankind  at  large ;  hence  it  is  that  he  has  earned  a 
fame  wider  than  any  author  of  modern  times.  The  creations 
of  his  genius  shall  survive  through  centuries  to  come,  and 
perish  only  with  our  language." 


134  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

GREAT  genius  is  not  always  associated  with  exalted  char- 
acter. There  is  much  in  the  life  of  Pope,  of  Burns,  and  of 
Byron  that  we  cannot  approve  of.  So  far  as  their  works  reflect 
their  moral  obliquities,  we  are  forced  to  make  abatements  in 
our  praise.  It  is  greatly  to  the  credit  of  American  literature 
that  its  leading  representatives  have  been  men  of  excellent 
character.  Dissolute  genius  has  not  flourished  on  our  soil. 
At  the  funeral  of  Bryant,  it  was  truthfully  said,  "It  is  the 
glory  of  this  man  that  his  character  outshone  even  his  great 
talent  and  his  large  fame."  In  a  poem  "To  Bryant  on  his 
Birthday,"  Whittier  beautifully  said:  — 

"  We  praise  not  now  the  poet's  art, 

The  rounded  beauty  of  his  song; 
Who  weighs  him  from  his  life  apart 
Must  do  his  nobler  nature  wrong." 

The  moral  element  in  literature  is  of  the  highest  impor- 
tance. It  is  a  French  maxim,  often  disregarded  in  France  as 
elsewhere,  that  "Nothing  is  beautiful  but  truth."1  It  is  cer- 
tain that  only  truth  is  enduring.  Whatever  is  false  is  sure, 
sooner  or  later,  to  pass  away.  Bryant  gave  beautiful  expres- 
sion to  the  same  idea  in  the  oft-quoted  lines  from  his  poem, 
"The  Battle-Field:  "  — 

"  Truth,  crushed  to  earth,  shall  rise  again; 

Th'  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers; 

But  Error,  wounded,  writhes  with  pain, 

And  dies  among  his  worshippers." 

1  Rien  n'est  beau  que  le  vrai. 


WILLIAM    CULLEN    BRYANT. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  135 

This  truth  is  often  forgotten  or  neglected  by  our  men  of 
letters.  Whatever  is  false  in  any  way,  whether  in  fact,  princi- 
ple, sentiment,  taste,  cannot  be  permanent.  This  is  the  secret 
of  the  wrecks  that  strew  the  fields  of  literature.  The  enduring 
works  of  literature  —  those  that  men  are  unwilling  to  let  die 
—  are  helpful  to  humanity.  No  art,  however  exquisite,  can 
win  lasting  currency  for  error.  Judged  by  this  principle,  the 
works  of  Bryant  are  enduring.  They  are  not  only  admirable 
in  literary  art,  but  they  are  true  in  thought,  sentiment,  and 
taste.  It  may  be  said  of  him,  as  was  said  of  James  Thomson, 
his  works  contain  — 

"  No  line  which,  dying,  he  could  wish  to  blot." 

William  Cullen  Bryant  was  born  at  Cummington,  Mass., 
Nov.  3,  1794.  He  came  of  sound  Puritan  stock,  counting 
among  his  ancestors  the  Priscilla  and  John  Alden  immortal- 
ized by  another  descendant  and  poet.  His  father  was  a  kind, 
cultured,  and  refined  physician,  who  took  more  than  ordinary 
interest  in  the  training  of  his  gifted  son.  In  his  "  Hymn  to 
Death,"  the  composition  of  which  was  interrupted  by  the  de- 
cease of  his  father,  the  poet  pays  him  a  noble  tribute:  — 

"  This  faltering  verse,  which  thou 
Shalt  not,  as  wont,  o'erlook,  is  all  I  have 
To  offer  at  thy  grave  —  this  —  and  the  hope 
To  copy  thy  example,  and  to  leave 
A  name  of  which  the  wretched  shall  not  think 
As  of  an  enemy's,  whom  they  forgive 
As  all  forgive  the  dead.     Rest,  therefore,  thou 
Whose  early  guidance  trained  my  infant  steps  — 
Rest,  in  the  bosom  of  God,  till  the  brief  sleep 
Of  death  is  over,  and  a  happier  life 
Shall  dawn  to  waken  thine  insensible  dust." 

Bryant  was  a  child  of  extraordinary  precocity.  At  the  age 
of  sixteen  months  he  knew  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  In 
the  district  school  he  distinguished  himself  as  an  almost  infal- 


136  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

lible  speller.  He  was  prepared  for  college  by  the  Rev.  Moses 
Hallock  of  Plainfield.  Of  his  Greek  studies  the  poet  says, 
"  I  began  with  the  Greek  alphabet,  passed  to  the  declensions 
and  conjugations,  which  I  committed  to  memory,  and  was  put 
into  the  Gospel  of  St.  John.  In  two  calendar  months  from 
the  time  of  beginning  with  the  powers  of  the  Greek  alphabet, 
I  had  read  every  book  in  the  New  Testament."  In  October, 
1810,  when  in  his  sixteenth  year,  he  entered  the  Sophomore 
class  at  Williams  College,  where  he  spent  only  one  session. 
Though  a  diligent  student,  he  did  not  find  college  life,  owing 
to  its  meagre  comforts,  entirely  to  his  taste. 

Bryant  showed  a  rhyming  propensity  at  an  early  age.  He 
eagerly  devoured  whatever  poetry  fell  into  his  hands,  and 
early  cherished  the  ambition  to  become  a  poet.  Among  his 
early  efforts  was  a  political  satire  against  Jefferson  and  his 
party,  inspired  by  the  Embargo  Act,  —  a  measure  that  proved 
disastrous  to  many  private  interests  in  New  England,  and  ex- 
cited strong  feeling  against  the  President.  Bryant's  father 
was  a  prominent  Federalist;  and  the  young  poet,  not  unnatu- 
rally, became  a  violent  partisan.  In  "The  Embargo,"  written 
when  he  was  thirteen,  he  rather  uncourteously  demanded  Jef- 
ferson's resignation:  — 

"  Go,  wretch,  resign  the  presidential  chair, 
Disclose  thy  secret  measures,  foul  or  fair. 
Go  search  with  curious  eye  for  horrid  frogs 
Mid  the  wild  wastes  of  Louisianian  bogs." 

This  satire,  which  had  quite  a  success  at  the  time,  the  poet 
afterwards  would  have  gladly  forgotten ;  but,  when  he  subse- 
quently became  a  Democratic  editor,  the  opposing  press  took 
care  to  see  that  he  was  occasionally  reminded  of  it. 

Having  failed  for  lack  of  means  in  completing  his  college 
course,  he  decided  to  study  law,  and  entered  the  office  of  Judge 
Howe  at  Worthington.  He  afterwards  completed  his  legal 
studies  under  William  Baylies  at  West  Bridgewater.  His 
heart  was  never  fully  in  the  study  of  law,  and  his  retiring  dis- 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  137 

position  did  not  promise  a  very  brilliant  career  at  the  bar. 
Nevertheless,  while  in  some  measure  indulging  his  fondness 
for  poetry,  he  gave  himself  with  commendable  diligence  to 
Blackstone  and  Coke.  In  a  poetical  effusion  of  the  time,  he 
recorded  his  experience  as  follows:  — 

"O'er  Coke's  black  letter, 
Trimming  the  lamp  at  eve,  'tis  mine  to  pore, 
Well  pleased  to  see  the  venerable  sage 
Unlock  his  treasured  wealth  of  legal  lore; 
And  I  that  loved  to  trace  the  woods  before, 
And  climb  the  hills,  a  playmate  of  the  breeze, 
Have  vowed  to  tune  the  rural  lay  no  more, 
Have  bid  my  useless  classics  sleep  at  ease, 
And  left  the  race  of  bards  to  scribble,  starve,  and  freeze." 

He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1815,  and  began  practice  at 
Plainfield;  but,  finding  the  outlook  unpromising,  he  removed 
at  the  end  of  a  year  to  Great  Barrington.  He  met  with  a  fair 
degree  of  success,  but  was  deeply  chagrined  to  find  that  law  is 
not  always  synonymous  with  justice.  He  was  far  too  conscien- 
tious to  be  careless  and  negligent;  but,  as  we  learn  from  a 
letter  written  at  this  period,  his  inclination  was  toward  litera- 
ture. "You  ask,"  he  writes  to  Mr.  Baylies,  his  old  teacher 
and  friend,  "  whether  I  am  pleased  with  my  profession.  Alas, 
sir,  the  muse  was  my  first  love;  and  the  remains  of  that  pas- 
sion, which  is  not  cooled  out  nor  chilled  into  extinction,  will 
always,  I  fear,  cause  me  to  look  coldly  on  the  severe  beauties 
of  Themis.  Yet  I  tame  myself  to  its  labors  as  well  as  I  can, 
and  have  endeavored  to  discharge  with  punctuality  and  atten- 
tion such  of  the  duties  of  my  profession  as  I  am  capable  of 
performing." 

As  was  to  be  expected,  nature  and  poetry  were  his  refuge 
and  comfort  in  the  midst  of  the  uncongenialities  of  his  profes- 
sion. His  love  of  nature  was  scarcely  less  strong  than  that 
of  Wordsworth.  His  portrayal  of  natural  beauty  is  a  promi- 
nent characteristic  of  his  poetry.  "I  was  always,"  he  says, 
"from  my  earliest  years,  a  delighted  observer  of  external 


138  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

nature,  —  the  splendors  of  a  winter  daybreak  over  the  wide 
wastes  of  snow  seen  from  our  windows,  the  glories  of  the  au- 
tumnal woods,  the  gloomy  approaches  of  a  thunderstorm,  and 
its  departure  amid  sunshine  and  rainbows,  the  return  of  the 
spring  with  its  flowers,  and  the  first  snowfall  of  winter.  The 
poets  fostered  this  taste  in  me ;  and  though  at  that  time  I  rarely 
heard  such  things  spoken  of,  it  was  none  the  less  cherished  in 
my  secret  mind.''  In  his  poem,  "Green  River,"  he  reveals  the 
state  of  his  mind  at  this  period,  though  in  a  manner  not  very 
complimentary  to  his  clients  and  associates  at  the  bar:  — 

"  Though  forced  to  drudge  for  the  dregs  of  men, 
And  scrawl  strange  words  with  the  barbarous  pen, 
And  mingle  among  the  jostling  crowd 
Where  the  sons  of  strife  are  subtle  and  loud, 
I  often  come  to  this  quiet  place 
To  breath  the  airs  that  ruffle  thy  face, 
And  gaze  upon  thee  in  silent  dream; 
For  in  thy  lonely  and  lovely  stream 
An  image  of  that  calm  life  appears 
That  won  my  heart  in  my  greener  years." 

The  time  had  now  come  for  a  more  general  recognition  of 
Bryant's  poetic  gifts.  Genius  is  apt  to  be  recognized  sooner 
or  later.  In  1817  his  "father  sent  to  the  North  American  Jtei'iew 
a  copy  of  verses  which  the  poet  had  written  in  his  eighteenth 
year  and  laid  away  in  his  desk.  "Ah,  Phillips,"  said  the 
sceptical  Dana  to  his  associate  editor  on  hearing  the  verses, 
"you  have  been  imposed  upon.  No  one  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic  is  capable  of  writing  such  verse."  The  poem  in  ques- 
tion was  "Thanatopsis,"  the  finest  poem  that  had  yet  been 
produced  in  America,  and  one  of  the  most  remarkable  pieces 
ever  written  at  so  early  an  age.  "There  was  no  mistaking  the 
quality  of  these  verses,"  says  a  biographer.  "The  stamp  of 
genius  was  upon  every  line.  No  such  verses  had  been  made  in 
America  before.  They  soon  found  their  way  into  the  school- 
books  of  the  country.  They  were  quoted  from  the  pulpit  and 
upon  the  hustings.  Their  gifted  author  had  a  national  fame 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  139 

before  he  had  a  vote,  and  in  due  time  '  Thanatopsis »  took  the 
place  which  it  still  retains  among  the  masterpieces  of  English 
didactic  poetry." 

Another  of  Bryant's  most  exquisite  poems  belongs  to  this 
period.  As  he  was  on  his  way  to  Plainfield  in  December, 
1815,  to  see  what  inducements  it  offered  for  the  practice  of 
his  profession,  he  watched  a  solitary  bird  pursuing  its  course 
southward  through  the  roseate  evening  sky.  He  was  deeply 
impressed  both  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene  and  by  the  lesson  it 
brought  to  him  in  an  hour  of  uncertainty  and  discouragement. 
That  night  he  wrote  "To  a  Waterfowl,"  which  some  persons 
have  thought  the  gem  of  all  his  works:  — 

"  Whither,  'midst  falling  dew, 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way? 


There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air, — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright." 

At  Great  Barrington,  Bryant  met  Miss  Frances  Fairchild, 
whose  native  goodness,  frank  and  affectionate  disposition,  and 
excellent  understanding,  captivated  his  heart.  Of  course  she 
became  the  inspiration  of  a  good  many  poems,  only  one  of 
which,  however,  the  poet  has  cared  to  preserve :  — 

"  Oh,  fairest  of  the  rural  maids  1 
Thy  birth  was  in  the  forest  shades ; 
Green  boughs,  and  glimpses  of  the  sky, 
Were  all  that  met  thine  infant  eye." 


140  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

They  were  married  in  1821,  and  for  nearly  half  a  century 
she  was  "the  good  angel  of  his  life."  The  union  was  a  sin- 
gularly happy  one.  The  poet's  tender  attachment  is  exhibited 
in  several  admirable  poems.  In  "The  Future  Life"  he  asks 
the  question  so  natural  to  deathless  love :  — 

"  How  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 

The  disembodied  spirits  of  the  dead, 
When  all  of  thee  that  time  could  wither  sleeps 
And  perishes  among  the  dust  we  tread  ? " 

In  "  The  Life  that  Is  "  the  poet  celebrates  the  recovery  of 
his  wife  from  a  serious  illness  in  Italy  in  1858:  — 

"  Twice  wert  thou  given  me ;  once  in  thy  fair  prime, 

Fresh  from  the  fields  of  youth,  when  first  we  met, 
And  all  the  blossoms  of  that  hopeful  time 

Clustered  and  glowed  where'er  thy  steps  were  set. 

And  now,  in  thy  ripe  autumn,  once  again 

Given  back  to  fervent  prayers  and  yearnings  strong, 

From  the  drear  realm  of  sickness  and  of  pain, 

Where  we  had  watched,  and  feared,  and  trembled  long." 

She  was  indeed  a  helpmeet  for  him.  "  I  never  wrote  a 
poem,"  he  said,  "that  I  did  not  repeat  to  her,  and  take  her 
judgment  upon  it.  I  found  its  success  with  the  public  pre- 
cisely in  proportion  to  the  impression  it  made  upon  her.  She 
loved  my  verses  and  judged  them  kindly,  but  did  not  like 
them  all  equally  well."  His  poem  "October,  1866,"  written 
upon  the  occasion  of  her  death,  is  a  threnody  of  great  beauty. 

With  his  growing  literary  reputation,  Bryant's  dissatisfac- 
tion with  his  profession  increased.  He  was  for  several  years 
a  regular  contributor  to  the  United  States  Gazette,  published  in 
Boston,  and  wrote  for  it  some  of  his  best-known  pieces,  most 
notable  of  which  is  "A  Forest  Hymn."  A  sonnet,  which  in 
his  collected  poems  bears  the  title  "Consumption,"  had  a 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  14! 

deep  personal  meaning.  It  was  written  of  his  sister,  a  young 
woman  of  rare  endowments  and  sweet  disposition,  who  died 
in  her  twenty-second  year:  — 

"  Death  should  come 

Gently  to  one  of  gentle  mould  like  thee, 
As  light  winds  wandering  through  groves  of  bloom 
Detach  the  delicate  blossom  from  the  tree." 

This  sister,  who  had  been  the  cherished  companion  of  his 
childhood,  is  the  theme  of  the  well-known  poem  "The  Death 
of  the  Flowers."  The  calm,  mild  days  of  late  autumn,  the 
season  in  which  she  died,  reminded  the  true-hearted  poet  of 
her  loss:  — 

"  And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty  died, 
The  fair,  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my  side; 
In  the  cold,  moist  earth  we  laid  her  when  the  forests  cast  the  leaf, 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have  a  life  so  brief; 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one,  like  that  young  friend  of  ours, 
So  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  should  perish  with  the  flowers." 

In  1825,  through  the  influence  of  friends,  Bryant  moved  to 
New  York,  gave  up  the  practice  of  law,  and  fairly  launched 
upon  a  literary  career.  He  became  editor  of  a  monthly  maga- 
zine at  a  salary  of  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  —  about  twice 
as  much,  he  tells  us,  as  he  received  from  the  practice  of  his 
profession.  But  the  magazine  did  not  succeed,  and  the  poet 
passed  through  a  period  of  uncertainty  and  depression.  As 
usual,  he  turned  his  experience  into  verse.  In  "The  Journey 
of  Life,"  written  at  this  time,  we  find  the  following  pathetic 
lines:  — 

"Beneath  the  waning  moon  I  walk  at  night, 

And  muse  on  human  life — for  all  around 
Are  dim  uncertain  shapes  that  cheat  the  sight, 
And  pitfalls  lurk  in  shade  along  the  ground, 
And  broken  gleams  of  brightness,  here  and  there, 
Glance  through,  and  leave  unwarmed  the  deathlike  air." 


142  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

But  amid  the  discouragements  of  this  brief  period  he  was 
sustained  by  the  friendship  and  sympathy  of  Cooper,  Kent, 
Verplanck,  Morse,  Halleck,  and  other  congenial  spirits. 

In  1826  Bryant  became  connected  with  the  Evening  Post, 
to  which  he  gave  more  than  half  a  century  of  his  life.  His 
career  as  a  journalist  is  unsurpassed  in  the  devotion  with 
which  he  gave  himself  to  the  best  interests  of  his  country  and 
of  humanity.  He  set  before  himself  a  high  ideal  of  editorial 
responsibility  and  journalistic  excellence.  His  example  and 
influence  contributed  no  small  part  to  the  elevation  of  the 
metropolitan  press.  Though  his  sympathies  in  the  main  were 
with  the  Democratic  party,  he  was  never  a  blind  or  unscrupu- 
lous partisan.  Principle  was  always  more  to  him  than  party. 
In  his  devotion  to  what  he  recognized  as  truth,  he  often  took 
the  unpopular  side.  He  was  independent  and  fearless.  He 
developed  the  Evening  Post  into  a  great  newspaper,  which 
at  last,  after  many  laborious  years,  brought  him  an  ample 
income. 

His  prose  was  of  a  high  order.  He  wrote  slowly  and  with 
great  care.  He  was  particular  even  to  the  point  of  fastidious- 
ness in  his  diction.  His  style  was  simple,  clear,  direct,  for- 
cible. "It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  in  style  we  ought 
first,  and  above  all  things,  to  aim  at  clearness  of  expression. 
An  obscure  style  is,  of  course,  a  bad  style."  To  a  young  man, 
who  had  asked  his  opinion  of  a  piece  of  writing,  he  wrote: 
"  I  observe  that  you  have  used  several  French  expressions  in 
your  letter.  I  think  if  you  will  study  the  English  language, 
that  you  will  find  it  capable  of  expressing  all  the  ideas  you 
may  have.  I  have  always  found  it  so;  and  in  all  I  have  writ- 
ten I  do  not  recall  an  instance  where  I  was  tempted  to  use  a 
foreign  word  but  that,  on  searching,  I  have  found  a  better  one 
in  my  own  language.  Be  simple,  unaffected;  be  honest  in 
your  speaking  and  writing.  Never  use  a  long  word  where  a 
short  one  will  do  as  well.  .  .  .  The  only  true  way  to  shine, 
even  in  this  false  world,  is  to  be  modest  and  unassuming. 
Falsehood  may  be  a  thick  crust,  but  in  the  course  of  time 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  143 

Truth  will  find  a  place  to  break  through.  Elegance  of  lan- 
guage may  not  be  in  the  power  of  us  all,  but  simplicity  and 
straightforwardness  are."  These  are  the  principles  to  which 
his  own  prose  writing  is  conformed. 

As  an  editor  and  a  man  he  had  some  little  peculiarities. 
His  violent  temper  he  schooled  himself  to  keep  under  perfect 
control.  Though  master  of  a  scathing  satire,  he  never  allowed 
himself  to  be  betrayed  into  an  abuse  of  that  dangerous  faculty. 
His  editorials  were  invariably  written  on  the  backs  of  letters 
and  other  pieces  of  waste  paper.  He  used  a  quill  pen,  which 
he  mended  with  a  knife  almost  as  old  as  himself.  Indeed,  he 
looked  upon  old  servants,  whether  animate  or  inanimate,  with 
a  childlike  tenderness.  It  is  related,  of  him  that  he  clung  to 
an  old  blue  cotton  umbrella  long  after  its  day  of  usefulness 
had  passed;  and  a  suggestion  to  replace  his  well-worn  knife 
with  a  new  one  he  would  have  discountenanced  almost  as  an 
impertinence. 

Bryant  was  fond  of  travel,  which  brought  him  both  mental 
and  physical  recreation.  He  was  a  hard  worker;  and  from 
time  to  time,  in  his  later  years,  relaxation  became  a  necessity 
to  him.  Between  the  years  1834  and  1867  he  made  no  fewer 
than  six  visits  to  the  Old  World.  He  not  only  visited  the 
leading  cities  of  Europe,  but  extended  his  travels  to  Egypt 
and  Syria.  His  fame  preceded  him,  and  everywhere  he  was 
received  with  the  marks  of  honor  that  were  due  him  as  a  poet 
and  a  man.  In  Great  Britain  he  met  most  of  the  illustrious 
authors  and  scholars  of  his  day,  including  Wordsworth,  Rogers, 
Moore,  Hallam,  Whewell,  and  Herschel.  His  letters  to  the 
Evening  Post,  descriptive  of  his  travels  abroad,  were  afterwards 
collected  into  a  volume  with  the  title  "Letters  of  a  Traveller." 
His  fine  sense  of  propriety  led  him  to  exclude  from  his  letters 
all  reference  to  the  distinguished  people  he  met.  In  1872  he 
visited  Cuba  and  Mexico,  where  honors  were  lavishly  bestowed 
upon  him. 

By  reason  of  his  distinguished  position  in  New  York,  Bryant 
was  frequently  called  on  for  public  addresses.  This  was  espe- 


144  A  At  ERIC  AN  LITERATURE. 

cially  true  when  the  life  and  character  of  some  eminent  person 
were  to  be  commemorated.  He  delivered  memorial  addresses 
upon  the  artist  Thomas  Cole,  upon  Cooper,  Irving,  Halleck, 
and  Verplanck.  He  was  not  an  orator,  but  he  delivered  his 
carefully  prepared  discourses  with  impressive  dignity.  Though 
his  treatment  was  always  sympathetic,  his  estimates  are  singu- 
larly judicious,  and  his  commemorative  addresses  are  models 
of  their  kind. 

But  whatever  excellence  Bryant  attained  in  other  spheres, 
he  was  above  all  a  poet.  Throughout  his  long  and  laborious 
career,  he  remained  true  to  the  muse  he  had  wooed  in  his  youth. 
But  he  was  not  a  prolific  poet.  Sometimes  his  prosaic  duties 
as  a  journalist  left  but  little  time  for  poetry.  There  are  years 
in  which  he  wrote  little  or  nothing.  Besides  his  lack  of  leisure 
and  favorable  surroundings,  he  was  too  conscientious  a  work- 
man to  be  satisfied  with  anything  but  the  best  he  was  capable 
of.  To  him  poetry  was  a  serious  vocation,  which  called  for  the 
highest  exercise  of  mind  and  soul.  In  "The  Poet"  he  says:  — 

"  Thou  who  wouldst  wear  the  name 

Of  poet  mid  thy  brethren  of  mankind, 
And  clothe  in  words  of  flame 

Thoughts  that  shall  live  within  the  general  mind, 
Deem  not  the  framing  of  a  deathless  lay 
The  pastime  of  a  drowsy  summer  day. 

But  gather  all  thy  powers, 

And  wreak  them  on  the  verse  that  thou  dost  weave, 
And  in  thy  lonely  hours, 

At  silent  morning  or  at  wakeful  eve, 
While  the  warm  current  tingles  through  thy  veins, 
Set  forth  the  burning  words  in  fluent  strains." 

In  1831  Bryant  issued  a  small  volume  containing  about 
eighty  of  his  poems.  His  simple,  honest  nature  revolted  at 
everything  like  sham.  He  rejected  what  he  called  "striking 
novelties  of  expression;"  and  he  had  no  patience  with  the  re- 
mote allusions  or  hazy  diction,  to  which  it  is  difficult  to  attach 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  145 

a  definite  meaning.  "To  me  it  seems,"  he  said,  "that  one 
of  the  most  important  requisites  for  a  great  poet  is  a  luminous 
style.  The  elements  of  poetry  lie  in  natural  objects,  in  the 
vicissitudes  of  human  life,  in  the  emotions  of  the  human  heart, 
and  the  relation  of  man  to  man.  He  who  can  present  them 
in  combinations  and  lights  which  at  once  affect  the  mind  with 
a  deep  sense  of  their  truth  and  beauty  is  the  poet  for  his  own 
age  and  the  ages  that  succeed  it."  To  these  principles  all  his 
poetry  is  conformed. 

Bryant  wished  to  have  his  poems  published  also  in  Eng- 
land; and,  though  unacquainted  with  him  at  the  time,  he  so- 
licited Irving's  influence  and  aid.  Irving,  who  had  a  genuine 
admiration  for  Bryant's  poetry,  interested  himself  in  the  enter- 
prise, secured  a  publisher,  and,  to  give  the  volume  some  degree 
of  prestige,  he  appeared  as  editor,  and  prefixed  a  dedicatory 
letter  addressed  to  Samuel  Rogers.  This  act  of  disinterested 
kindness  was  admirable,  and  called  forth  Bryant's  grateful  ap- 
preciation. But  it  subsequently  led  to  some  correspondence 
not  entirely  free  from  asperity.  In  the  poem,  "  Song  of  Mari- 
on's Men,"  occur  the  lines,  — 

"  And  the  British  foeman  trembles 
When  Marion's  name  is  heard." 

These  lines  were  objected  to  by  the  London  publisher  as 
reflecting  upon  British  valor,  and  as  likely,  therefore,  to  preju- 
dice the  British  public.  Accordingly  Irving  judged  it  best  to 
change  the  first  line  into  — 

"  The  foeman   trembles  in  his  camp." 

Under  the  circumstances  there  was  but  little  room  to  find 
fault  with  this  alteration.  But  Leggett,  editor  of  the  Plain- 
dealer  and  intimate  friend  of  Bryant's,  denounced  the  change 
as  "literary  pusillanimity."  This  severe  and  unnecessary 
charge  called  forth  letters  from  both  Irving  and  Bryant;  but 
the  ill-feeling  engendered  at  the  moment  proved  only  a  ripple 


140  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

on  the  surface  of  their  profound  appreciation  of  each  other's 
ability  and  character. 

Bryant's  poetry  has  a  quality  of  its  own,  as  distinct  and 
recognizable  as  that  of  Corot's  paintings.  Beyond  all  other 
verse  produced  in  America,  it  has  what  maybe  called  a  classic 
quality.  It  is  clear,  calm,  elevated,  strong.  Many  of  his 
poems,  in  their  finished  form  and  chastened'  self-restraint,  re- 
semble Greek  statuary.  His  poetry  is  pervaded  by  a  reflective, 
ethical  tone.  The  objects  of  nature,  which  he  dwells  on  with 
untiring  fondness,  convey  to  his  mind  some  beautiful  lesson 
of  hope,  comfort,  courage.  .  He  looks,  for  instance,  upon  the 
North  Star,  and  in  its  beams  he  beholds  — 

"  A  beauteous  type  of  that  unchanging  good, 
That  bright  eternal  beacon,  by  whose  ray 
The  voyager  of  time  should  shape  his  heedful  way." 

Though  there  are  few  that  speak  in  praise  of  the  wild, 
stormy  month  of  March,  he  bids  it  a  cordial  welcome :  — 

"  Thou  bringst  the  hope  of  those  calm  skies, 

And  that  soft  time  of  sunny  showers, 

When  the  wide  bloom,  on  earth  that  lies, 

Seems  of  a  brighter  world  than  ours." 

3^>       He  does  not  sigh  at  the  increasing  speed  with  which  the 
years  pass  by :  — 

"  Then  haste  thee,  Time,  —  'tis  kindness  all 

That  speeds  thy  winged  feet  so  fast ; 
The  pleasures  stay  not  till  they  pall, 
And  all  thy  pains  are  quickly  past. 

Thou  fliest  and  bear'st  away  our  woes, 

And  as  thy  shadowy  train  depart, 
The  memory  of  sorrow  grows 

A  lighter  burden  on  the  heart." 

To  those  who  lament  the  Degeneracy  of  their  time,  and  are 
filled  with  gloomy  forebodings  of  the  future,  he  says, — 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  147 

"  Oh,  no  !  a  thousand  cheerful  omens  give 
Hope  of  yet  happier  days  whose  dawn  is  nigh.- 
He  who  has  tamed  the  elements,  shall  not  live 
The  slave  of  his  own  passions;  he  whose  eye 
Unwinds  the  eternal  dances  of  the  sky, 
And  in  the  abyss  of  brightness  dares  to  span 
The  sun's  broad  circle,  rising  yet  more  high, 
In  God's  magnificent  works  his  will  shall  scan, 
And  love  and  peace  shall  make  their  paradise  with  man." 

Bryant's  poetry  is  not  artificial.  It  sprang  out  of  the  depths 
of  his  soul;  it  is  the  natural  expression  of  his  deepest  thoughts 
and  feelings.  It  was  jjispired  chiefly  by  the  scenery,  life,  and 
history  of  his  own  country,  —  a  fact  that  makes  him  pre-emi- 
nently an  American  poet.  "He  never,  by  any  chance,"  says 
Stedman,  "affected  passion  or  set  himself  to  artificial  song. 
He  had  the  triple  gift  of  Athene,  'self-reverence, _self -knowl- 
edge, self-control.'  He  was  incapable  of  pretending  to  rap- 
uires  that  he  did  not  feel;  and  this  places  him  far  above  a  host 
of  those  who,  without  knowing  it,  hunt  for  emotions,  and  make 
poetry  but  little  better  than  a  trade." 

Bryant  crowned  his  long  literary  life  with  a  translation  of 
the  "Iliad"  and  the  " Odyssey."  The  former  was  undertaken 
in  1865,  when  the  poet  was  in  his  seventy-first  year,  and  it  was 
completed  four  years  later.  His  vigorous  health  and  disci- 
plined faculties  had  always  enabled  him  to  work  with  unusual 
regularity.  He  was  never  dependent  on  moments  of  happy 
inspiration.  In  translating  Homer  he  set  himself  the  task 
of  forty  lines  a  day.  He  found  fault  with  the  translations  of 
Pope  and  Cowper,  because  of  their  lack  of  fidelity  to  the  origi- 
nal. "I  have  sought  to  attain,"  he  says,  "what  belongs  to  the 
original,  —  a  fluent  narrative  style  which  shall  carry  the  reader 
forward  without  the  impediment  of  unexpected  inversions  and 
capricious  phrases,  and  in  which,  if  he  find  nothing  to  stop  at 
and  admire,  there  will  at  least  be  nothing  to  divert  his  atten- 
tion from  the  story  and  characters  of  the  poem,  from  the  events 
related  and  the  objects  described."  Scarcely  was  the  "Iliad  " 


148  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

finished,  when  he  began  the  "Odyssey."  It  was  completed  in 
two  years.  The  entire  translation,  which  was  a  credit  to  Amer- 
ican talent  and  scholarship,  met  with  a  cordial  reception.  It 
satisfied  the  high  expectations  that  had  preceded  its  appear- 
ance. In  fidelity  to  the  original,  in  its  admirable  style  and 
diction,  and  in  its  successful  reproduction  of  the  heroic  spirit, 
it  surpasses,  perhaps,  all  other  translations. 

Besides  his  city  residence,  Bryant  had  two  houses  in  the 
country,  —  one  near  the  village  of  Roslyn,  Long  Island,  com- 
manding an  extensive  prospect  of  land  and  water;  the  other, 
the  old  Bryant  homestead  at  Cummington.  He  was  accus- 
tomed, the  latter  part  of  his  life,  to  spend  about  one-half  his 
time  at  these  country  homes.  He  took  great  interest  in  beau- 
tifying them,  and  was  "aye  sticking  in  a  tree."  At  his  home 
near  Roslyn,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  "Cedarmere,"  he 
did  some  of  his  best  work.  It  was  the  abode  of  simplicity  and 
taste,  to  which  he  welcomed  many  friends  and  distinguished 
guests. 

Bryant  was  a  deeply  religious  man;  but  he  attached  more 
importance  to  reverence,  righteousness,  and  charity  than  to 
any  ecclesiastical  creed.  Though  brought  up  in  the  Calvin- 
istic  faith,  his  later  theological  sympathies  were  with  the  Uni- 
tarians. "The  religious  man,"  he  wrote  near  the  end  of  his 
life,  "finds  in  his  relations  to  his  Maker  a  support  to  his 
virtue  which  others  cannot  have.  He  acts  always  with  a  con- 
sciousness that  he  is  immediately  under  the  eyes  of  a  Being 
who  looks  into  his  heart,  and  sees  his  inmost  thoughts,  and 
discerns  the  motives  which  he  is  half  unwilling  to  acknowl- 
edge even  to  himself.  He  feels  that  he  is  under  the  inspira- 
tion of  a  Being  who  is  only  pleased  with  right  motives  and 
purity  of  intention,  and  who  is  displeased  with  whatever  is 
otherwise.  He  feels  that  the  approbation  of  that  Being  is 
infinitely  more  to  be  valued  than  the  applause  of  all  mankind, 
and  his  displeasure  more  to  be  feared  and  more  to  be  avoided 
than  any  disgrace  which  he  might  sustain  from  his  brethren 
of  mankind. "  He  had  a  profound  reverence  for  the  character 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  149 

and  teachings  of  Christ,  whose  sweetness  and  beneficence  he 
exemplified  in  his  own  life  with  advancing  years. 

The  rich,  full  life  of  Bryant  continued  far  beyond  the 
allotted  period  of  man;  but  the  end  came  suddenly.  In  the 
latter  part  of  May,  1878,  he  delivered  an  address  at  the  un- 
veiling of  a  statue  to  Mazzini,  the  Italian  patriot,  in  Central 
Park.  He  had  not  been  feeling  well  for  several  days,  and 
exposure  to  the  sun  proved  too  much  for  his  strength.  On  en- 
tering the  house  of  a  friend  near  the  Park,  he  suddenly  lost 
consciousness,  and,  falling  backward,  struck  his  head  violently 
on  the  stone  platform  of  the  front  steps.  The  terrific  blow 
caused  concussion  of  the  brain,  from  which  he  died  June  12, 
in  the  eighty-fourth  year  of  his  age.  "  By  reason  of  his  vener- 
able age,"  wrote  Dr.  J.  G.  Holland,  "his  unquestioned  genius, 
his  pure  and  lofty  character,  his  noble  achievement  in  letters, 
his  great  influence  as  a  public  journalist,  and  his  position  as 
a  pioneer  in  American  literature,  William  Cullen  Bryant  had 
become,  without  a  suspicion  of  the  fact  in  his  own  modest 
thought,  the  principal  citizen  of  the  great  republic.  By  all 
-who  knew  him,  and  by  millions  who  never  saw  him,  he  was 
held  in  the  most  affectionate  reverence.  When  he  died,  there- 
fore, and  was  buried  from  sight,  he  left  a  sense  of  personal 
loss  in  all  worthy  American  hearts." 


I5O  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 

IT  is  difficult  to  form  a  just  and  satisfactory  estimate  of 
Edgar  Allan  Poe.  His  genius  is  unquestionable;  but  then  it 
was  associated  with  poor  judgment  and  a  faulty  character.  It 
is  not  easy  to  get  at  the  facts.  Like  Pope,  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  mislead  and  mystify  his  readers.  His  biographers  are  gen- 
erally either  friendly  or  hostile  partisans.  If  the  latter  paint 
his  character  and  career  in  colors  so  dark  as  to  be  almost  in- 
credible, the  former  can  at  best  only  extenuate  and  apologize 
for  his  mistakes  and  vices. 

Poe  occupies  a  peculiar  place  in  American  literature.  He 
has  been  called  our  most  interesting  literary  man.  He  stands 
alone  for  his  intellectual  brilliancy  and  his  lamentable  failure 
to  use  it  wisely.  No  one  can  read  his  works  intelligently  with- 
out being  impressed  with  his  extraordinary  ability.  Whether 
poetry,  criticism,  or  fiction,  he  shows  extraordinary  power  in 
them  all.  But  the  moral  element  in  life  is  the  most  impor- 
tant, and  in  this  Poe  was  lacking.  With  him  truth  was  not 
the  first  necessity.  He  allowed  his  judgment  to  be  warped  by 
friendship,  and  apparently  sacrificed  sincerity  to  the  vulgar 
desire  of  gaining  popular  applause.  He  gambled  and  drank 
liquor;  and  for  these  reasons  chiefly,  though  the  fact  has  been 
denied  by  some,  he  was  unable  for  any  considerable  length  of 
time  to  maintain  himself  in  a  responsible  or  lucrative  posi- 
tion. Fortune  repeatedly  opened  to  him  an  inviting  door;  but 
he  constantly  and  ruthlessly  abused  her  kindness. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  descended  from  an  honorable  ancestry. 
His  grandfather,  David  Poe,  was  a  Revolutionary  hero,  over 
whose  grave,  as  he  kissed  the  sod,  Lafayette  pronounced  the 
words,  "Id  repose  un  cceur  noble."  His  father,  an  impulsive 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE.  I  5  I 

and  wayward  youth,  became  enamored  of  an  English  actress, 
and  forsook  the  bar  for  the  stage.  The  couple  were  duly  mar- 
ried, and  acted  with  moderate  success  in  the  principal  towns 
and  cities  of  the  country.  It  was  during  an  engagement  at 
Boston  that  the  future  poet  was  born,  Jan.  19,  iSog.1  Two 
years  later  the  wandering  pair  were  again  in  Richmond,  where 
within  a  few  weeks  of  each  other  they  died  in  poverty.  They 
left  three  children,  the  second  of  whom,  the  subject  of  this 
sketch,  was  kindly  received  into  the  home  of  Mr.  John  Allan, 
a  wealthy  merchant  of  the  city. 

The  early  training  of  Poe  may  be  taken  as  a  very  good 
example  of  how  not  to  bring  up  children.  The  boy  was 
remarkably  pretty  and  precocious;  and  his  foster-parents  al- 
lowed no  opportunity  to  pass  without  showing  him  off.  After 
dinner  in  this  elegant  and  hospitable  home,  he  was  frequently 
placed  upon  the  table  to  drink  to  the  health  of  the  guests, 
and  to  deliver  short  declamations,  for  which  he  had  inherited 
a  decided  talent.  He  was  flattered  and  fondled  and  indulged 
in  every  way.  Is  it  strange  that  under  this  training  he  ac- 
quired a  taste  for  strong  drink,  and  became  opinionated  and 
perverse  ? 

In  1815  Mr.  Allan  went  to  England  with  his  family  to 
spend  several  years,  and  there  placed  the  young  Edgar  at 
school  in  an  ancient  and  historic  town,  which  has  since  been 
swallowed  up  in  the  overflow  of  the  great  metropolis.  The 
venerable  appearance  and  associations  of  the  town,  as  may  be 
learned  from  the  autobiographic  tale  of  "William  Wilson," 
made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  on  the  imaginative  boy. 

After  five  years  spent  in  this  English  school,  where  he 
learned  to  read  Latin  and  to  speak  French,  he  was  brought 
back  to  America,  and  placed  in  a  Richmond  academy.  With- 
out much  diligence  in  study,  his  brilliancy  enabled  him  to 
take  high  rank  in  his  classes.  His  skill  in  verse-making  and 

1  Different  dates  are  given,  and  Baltimore  is  frequently  mentioned  as  the  place 
of  his  birth ;  but  the  matter  may  be  regarded  as  finally  settled  by  Woodberry  in  his 
excellent  biography  of  Poe. 


152  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

in  debate  made  him  prominent  in  the  school.  He  excelled  in 
athletic  exercises,  especially  in  running  and  jumping;  and  it 
is  related  of  him  that  on  one  occasion,  stimulated  perhaps  by 
the  aquatic  feats  of  Byron,  he  swam  a  distance  of  six  miles 
against  a  strong  tide  without  much  apparent  fatigue.  But 
he  was  not  generally  popular  among  his  fellow-students. 
Conscious  of  his  superior  intellectual  endowments  (which, 
however,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  were  not  as  great  as  he 
imagined),  he  was  disposed  to  live  apart,  and  to  indulge  in 
moody  reverie.  According  to  the  testimony  of  one  who  knew 
him  well  at  this  time,  he  was  "self-willed,  capricious,  inclined 
to  be  imperious,  and  though  of  generous  impulses,  not  steadily 
kind,  or  even  amiable." 

In  1826,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  Poe  matriculated  at  the 
University  of  Virginia,  and  entered  the  schools  of  ancient  and 
modern  languages.  The  university  has  never  been  noted  for 
rigid  discipline  or  Puritanic  morals.  Its  laxity  in  both  partic- 
ulars chimed  in  well  with  Poe's  natural  impulses.  Though 
he  attended  his  classes  with  a  fair  degree  of  regularity,  he  was 
not  slow  in  joining  the  fast  set  that  spent  more  time  in  drink- 
ing and  gambling  than  in  study.  Gambling  especially  became 
a  passion,  and  he  lost  heavily.  His  reckless  expenditures  led 
Mr.  Allan  to  visit  Charlottesville  for  the  purpose  of  inquiring 
into  his  habits.  The  result  was  not  satisfactory;  and,  though 
his  adopted  son  won  high  honors  in  Latin  and  French,  Mr. 
Allan  refused  to  allow  him  to  return  to  the  university  after 
the  close  of  his  first  session,  and  placed  him  in  his  own  count- 
ing-room. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  foresee  the  next  step  in  the  drama 
before  us.  Many  a  genius  of  far  greater  self-restraint  and 
moral  earnestness  has  found  the  routine  of  business  almost 
intolerably  irksome.  With  high  notions  of  his  own  ability, 
and  with  a  temper  rebellious  to  all  restraint,  Poe  soon  broke 
away  from  his  new  duties,  and  started  out  to  seek  his  fortune. 
He  went  to  Boston;  and,  in  eager  search  for  fame  and  money, 
he  resorted  to  the  unpromising  expedient  of  publishing  in 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE.  153 

1827  a  small  volume  of  poems.  As  viewed  in  the  light  of  his 
subsequent  career,  the  volume  gives  here  and  there  an  intima- 
tion of  the  author's  genius;  but,  as  was  to  be  expected,  it 
attracted  but  little  attention,  and  disappointed  all  his  ambi- 
tious hopes.  He  was  soon  reduced  to  financial  straits;  and,  in 
his  pressing  need,  he  enlisted,  under  an  assumed  name,  in 
the  United  States  army.  He  served  at  Fort  Moultrie,  and 
afterwards  at  Fortress  Monroe.  He  rose  to  the  rank  of  ser- 
geant-major; and,  according  to  the  testimony  of  his  superiors, 
he  was  "exemplary  in  his  deportment,  prompt  and  faithful 
in  the  discharge  of  his  duties." 

In  1829,  when  his  heart  was  softened  by  the  death  of  his 
wife,  Mr.  Allan  became  reconciled  to  his  adopted  but  way- 
ward son.  Through  his  influence,  young  Poe  secured  a  dis- 
charge from  the  army,  and  obtained  an  appointment  as  cadet 
at  West  Point.  He  entered  the  military  academy  July  i,  1830, 
and,  as  usual,  established  a  reputation  for  brilliancy  and 
folly.  He  was  reserved,  exclusive,  discontented,  and  censo- 
rious. As  described  by  a  classmate,  "He  was  an  accom- 
plished French  scholar,  and  had  a  wonderful  aptitude  for 
mathematics,  so  that  he  had  no  difficulty  in  preparing  his 
recitations  in  his  class,  and  in  obtaining  the  highest  marks  in 
these  departments.  He  was  a  devourer  of  books;  but  his 
great  fault  was  his  neglect  of  and  apparent  contempt  for  mili- 
tary duties.  His  wayward  and  capricious  temper  made  him 
at  times  utterly  oblivious  or  indifferent  to  the  ordinary  rou- 
tine of  roll-call,  drills,  and  guard  duties.  These  habits  sub- 
jected him  often  to  arrest  and  punishment,  and  effectually 
prevented  his  learning  or  discharging  the  duties  of  a  soldier." 
The  final  result  is  obvious.  At  the  end  of  six  months,  he  was 
summoned  before  a  court-martial,  tried,  and  expelled. 

Before  leaving  West  Point,  Poe  arranged  for  the  publica- 
tion of  a  volume  of  poetry,  which  appeared  in  New  York  in 
1831.  This  volume,  to  which  "the  students  of  the  academy 
subscribed  liberally  in  advance,  is  noteworthy  in  several  par- 
ticulars. In  a  prefatory  letter  Poe  lays  down  the  poetic  prin- 


154  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ciple  to  which  he  endeavored  to  conform  his  productions.  It 
throws  much  light  on  his  poetry  by  exhibiting  the  ideal  at 
which  he  aimed.  "A  poem,  in  my  opinion,"  he  says,  "is  op- 
posed to  a  work  of  science  by  having  for  its  immediate  object 
pleasure,  not  truth;  to  romance,  by  having  for  its  object  an 
indefinite  instead  of  a  definite  pleasure,  being  a  poem  only 
so  far  as  this  object  is  attained;  romance  presenting  percep- 
tible images  with  definite,  poetry  with  ///definite  sensations, 
to  which  end  music  is  an  essential,  since  the  comprehension  of 
sweet  sound  is  our  most  indefinite  conception.  Music,  when 
combined  with  a  pleasurable  idea,  is  poetry;  music  without 
the  idea  is  simply  music;  the  idea  without  the  music  is  prose 
from  its  very  definiteness."  Music  embodied  in  a  golden  mist 
of  thought  and  sentiment  —  this  is  Poe's  poetic  ideal. 

As  illustrative  of  his  musical  rhythm,  the  following  lines 
from  "  Al  Aaraaf  "  may  be  given :  — 

"Ligeia!    Ligeia! 

My  beautiful  one  I 
Whose  harshest  idea 

Will  to  melody  run, 
O!   is  it  thy  will 

On  the  breezes  to  toss? 
Or,  capriciously  still, 

Like  the  lone  albatross, 
Incumbent  on  night 

(As  she  on  the  air) 
To  keep  watch  with  delight 

On  the  harmony  there  ? " 

Or  take  the  last  stanza  of  "Israfel :"  — 

.  "If  I  could  dwell 
Where  Israfel 

Hath  dwelt,  and  he  where  I, 
He  might  not  sing  so  wildly  well 

A  mortal  melody, 
While  a  bolder  note  than  this  might  swell 

From  my  lyre  within  the  sky." 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE.  155 

The  two  principal  poems  in  the  volume  under  considera- 
tion—  "Al  Aaraaf"  and  "Tamerlane"  —  were  obvious  imita- 
tions of  Moore  and  Byron.  The  beginning  of  "Al  Aaraaf," 
for  example,  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  an  extract  from 
"Lalla  Rookh,"  so  similar  are  the  rhythm  and  rhyme:  — 

"  O !    nothing  earthly  save  the  ray 
(Thrown  back  from  flowers)  of  Beauty's  eye, 
As  in  those  gardens  where  the  day 
Springs  from  the  gems  of  Circassy  — 
O !  nothing  earthly  save  the  thrill 
Of  melody  in  woodland  rill  — 
Or  (music  of  the  passion-hearted) 
Joy's  voice  so  peacefully  departed 
That  like  the  murmur  in  the  shell, 
Its  echo  dwelleth  and  will  dwell  — 
Oh,  nothing  of  the  dross  of  ours  — 
Yet  all  the  beauty  — all  the  flowers 
That  list  our  Love,  and  deck  our  bowers —   • 
Adorn  yon  world  afar,  afar  — 
The  wandering  star." 

In  this  poem  there  is  a  further  imitation  of  Moore  in  the 
copious  annotations,  in  which  Poe  tries  to  appear  learned  by 
the  cheap  trick  of  mentioning  obscure  names,  and  quoting 
scholarly  authorities  at  second-hand.  It  indicates  his  singu- 
lar lack  of  moral  integrity  that  he  kept  up  this  evil  practice 
all  through  his  literary  career. 

After  his  expulsion  from  West  Point,  Poe  appears  to  have 
gone  to  Richmond;  but  the  long-suffering  of  Mr.  Allan,  who 
had  married  again  and  was  expecting  a  lineal  descendant,  was 
at  length  exhausted.  He  refused  to  extend  any  further  recog- 
nition to  one  whom  he  had  too  much  reason  to  regard  as  un- 
appreciative  and  undeserving.  Accordingly,  Poe  was  finally 
thrown  upon  his  own  resources  for  a  livelihood.  He  settled  in 
Baltimore,  where  he  had  a  few  acquaintances  and  friends,  and 
entered  upon  that  literary  career  which  is  without  parallel  in 
American  literature  for  its  achievements,  its  vicissitudes,  and 


156  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

its  sorrows.  With  no  qualification  for  the  struggle  of  life 
other  than  intellectual  brilliancy,  he  bitterly  atoned,  through 
disappointment  and  suffering,  for  his  defects  of  temper,  lack 
of  judgment,  and  habits  of  intemperance. 

In  1833  the  Baltimore  Saturday  Visitor  offered  a  prize  of, 
one  hundred  dollars  for  the  best  prose  story.  This  prize  Poe 
won  by  his  tale  "A  MS.  Found  in  a  Bottle."  This  success 
may  be  regarded  as  the  first  step  in  his  literary  career.  The 
ability  displayed  in  this  fantastic  tale  brought  him  to  the  no- 
tice of  John  P.  Kennedy,  Esq.,  who  at  once  befriended  him  in 
his  distress,  and  aided  him  in  his  literary  projects.  He  gave 
Poe,  whom  he  found  in  extreme  poverty,  free  access  to  his 
table,  and,  to  use  his  own  words,  "brought  him  up  from  the 
very  verge  of  despair." 

After  a  year  or  more  of  hack  work  in  Baltimore,  Poe, 
through  the  influence  of  his  kindly  patron,  obtained  employ- 
ment on  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  and  removed  to  Rich- 
mond in  1835.  Here  he  made  a  brilliant  start;  life  seemed  to 
open  before  him  full  of  promise.  In  a  short  time  he  was  pro- 
moted to  the  editorship  of  the  Messenger,  and  by  his  tales, 
poems,  and  especially  his  reviews,  he  made  that  periodical 
very  popular.  In  a  twelvemonth  he  increased  its  subscription 
list  from  seven  hundred  to  nearly  five  thousand,  and  made  the 
magazine  a  rival  of  the  Knickerbocker  and  the  New  Englander. 
He  was  loudly  praised  by  the  Southern  press,  and  was  gener- 
ally regarded  as  one  of  the  foremost  writers  of  the  day. 

In  the  Messenger,  Poe  began  his  work  as  a  critic.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say  that  his  criticism  was  of  the  slashing 
kind.  He  became  little  short  of  a  terror.  With  a  great  deal 
of  critical  acumen  and  a  fine  artistic  sense,  he  made  relentless 
war  on  pretentious  mediocrity,  and  rendered  good  service  to 
American  letters  by  enforcing  higher  literary  standards.  He 
was  lavish  in  his  charges  of  plagiarism,  even  when  stealing 
himself;  and  he  made  use  of  cheap,  second-hand  learning  in 
order  to  ridicule  the  pretended  scholarship  of  others.  He  often 
affected  an  irritating  and  contemptuous  superiority.  But  with 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE.  157 

all  his  humbug  and  superciliousness,  his  critical  estimates,  in 
the  main,  have  been  sustained. 

The  bright  prospects  before  Poe  were  in  a  few  months  ruth- 
lessly blighted.  Perhaps  he  relied  too  much  on  his  genius 
and  reputation.  It  is  easy  for  men  of  ability  to  overrate  their 
importance.  Regarding  himself,  perhaps,  as  indispensable  to 
the  Messenger,  he  may  have  relaxed  in  vigilant  self-restraint. 
It  has  been  claimed  that  he  resigned  the  editorship  in  order 
to  accept  a  more  lucrative  offer  in  New  York;  but  the  sad 
truth  seems  to  be  that  he  was  dismissed  on  account  of  his 
irregular  habits. 

After  eighteen  months  in  Richmond,  during  which  he  had 
established  a  brilliant  literary  reputation,  Poe  was  again  turned 
adrift.  He  went  to  New  York,  where  his  story  of  "Arthur 
Gordon  Pym"  was  published  by  the  Harpers  in  1838.  It  is 
a  tale  of  the  sea,  written  with  the  simplicity  of  style  and  cir- 
cumstantiality of  detail  that  give  such  charm  to  the  works  of 
Defoe.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Cooper  and  Marryat  had 
created  a  taste  for  sea-tales,  the  story  of  "Arthur  Gordon 
Pym  "  never  became  popular.  It  is  superabundant  in  horrors 
—  a  vein  that  had  a  fatal  fascination  for  the  morbid  genius  of 
Poe. 

The  same  year  in  which  this  story  appeared,  Poe  removed 
to  Philadelphia,  where  he  soon  found  work  on  TJie  Gentleman1  s 
Magazine,  recently  established  by  the  comedian  Burton.  He 
soon  rose  to  the  position  of  editor-in-chief,  and  his  talents 
proved  of  great  value  to  the  magazine.  His  tales  and  criti- 
cism rapidly  increased  its  circulation.  But  the  actor,  whose 
love  of  justice  does  him  great  credit,  could  not  approve  of  his 
editor's  sensational  criticism.  In  a  letter  written  when  their 
cordial  relations  were  interrupted  for  a  time,  Burton  speaks 
very  plainly  and  positively:  "I  cannot  permit  the  magazine 
to  be  made  a  vehicle  for  that  sort  of  severity  which  you  think 
is  so  '  successful  with  the  mob. '  I  am  truly  much  less  anx- 
ious about  making  a  monthly  '  sensation  '  than  I  am  upon  the 
point  of  fairness.  .  .  .  You  say  the  people  love  havoc.  I 


158  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

think  they  love  justice."  Poe  did  not'  profit  by  his  experience 
at  Richmond,  and  after  a  few  months  he  was  dismissed  for 
neglect  of  duty. 

He  was  out  of  employment  but  a  short  time.  In  Novem- 
ber, 1840,  Gra/iam's  Magazine  was  established,  and  Poe  ap- 
pointed editor.  At  no  other  period  of  his  life  did  his  genius 
appear  to  better  advantage.  Thrilling  stories  and  trenchant 
criticisms  followed  one  another  in  rapid  succession.  His  arti- 
cles on  autography  and  cryptology  attracted  widespread  atten- 
tion. In  the  former  he  attempted  to  illustrate  character  by 
the  handwriting;  and  in  the  latter  he  maintained  that  human 
ingenuity  cannot  invent  a  cipher  that  human  ingenuity  cannot 
resolve.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months  the  circulation  of  the 
magazine  (if  its  own  statements  may  be  trusted)  increased  from 
eight  thousand  to  forty  thousand  —  a  remarkable  circulation  for 
the  time. 

His  criticism  was  based  on  the  rather  violent  assumption 
"that,  as  a  literary  people,  we  are  one  vast  perambulating 
humbug."  In  most  cases,  literary  prominence,  he  asserted, 
was  achieved  "by  the  sole  means  of  a  blustering  arrogance, 
or  of  busy  wriggling  conceit,  or  of  the  most  bare-faced  plagia- 
rism, or  even  through  the  simple  immensity  of  its  assump- 
tions." These  fraudulent  reputations  he  undertook,  "with  the 
help  of  a  hearty  good  will  "  (which  no  one  will  doubt),  to 
"tumble  down."  But,  in  the  fury  of  this  general  destruction, 
he  did  not  allow  himself  to  become  utterly  indiscriminate  and 
merciless.  He  admitted  that  there  were  a  few  who  rose  above 
absolute  "idiocy."  "Mr.  Morris  has  written  good  songs. 
Mr.  Bryant  is  not  all  fool.  Mr.  Willis  is  not  quite  an  ass. 
Mr.  Longfellow  wi/l  steal;  but,  perhaps,  he  cannot  help  it 
(for  we  have  heard  of  such  things),  and  then  it  must  not  be 
denied  that  nil  tdigit  quod  non  ornavit."  But,  in  spite  of  reck- 
less and  extravagant  assertion,  there  was  still  too  much  acu- 
men and  force  in  his  reviews  to  allow  them  to  be  treated  with 
indifference  or  contempt. 

In  about  eighteen  months  Poe's  connection  with  Graham 


EDGAR   ALLAN  FOE.  159 

was  dissolved.  The  reason  has  not  been  made  perfectly  clear; 
but,  from  what  we  already  know,  it  is  safe  to  charge  it  to  Foe's 
infirmity  of  temper  or  of  habit.  His  protracted  sojourn  in 
Philadelphia  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  It  had  been  the 
most  richly  productive,  as  well  as  the  happiest,  period  of  his 
life.  For  a  time,  sustained  by  appreciation  and  hope,  he  in  a 
measure  overcame  his  intemperate  habits.  Griswold,  his  much- 
abused  biographer,  has  given  us  an  interesting  description  of 
him  and  his  home  at  this  time:  "  His  manner,  except  during 
his  fits  of  intoxication,  was  very  quiet  and  gentlemanly;  he 
was  usually  dressed  with  simplicity  and  elegance;  and  when 
once  he  sent  for  me  to  visit  him,  during  a  period  of  illness 
caused  by  protracted  and  anxious  watching  at  the  side  of  his 
sick  wife,  I  was  impressed  by  the  singular  neatness  and  the  air 
of  refinement  in  his  home.  It  was  in  a  small  house,  in  one 
of  the  pleasant  and  silent  neighborhoods  far  from  the  centre 
of  the  town;  and,  though  slightly  and  cheaply  furnished,  every- 
thing in  it  was  so  tasteful  and  so  fitly  disposed  that  it  seemed 
altogether  suitable  for  a  man  of  genius." 

It  was  during  his  residence  in  Philadelphia  that  Poe  wrote 
his  choicest  stories.  Among  the  masterpieces  of  this  period 
are  to  be  mentioned  "The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,"  "Li- 
geia,"  which  he  regarded  as  his  best  tale,  "The  Descent  into 
the  Maelstrom,"  "The  Murders  of  the  Rue  Morgue,"  and 
"The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget."  The  general  character  of  his 
tales  may  be  inferred  from  their  titles.  Poe  delighted  in  the 
weird,  fantastic,  dismal,  horrible.  There  is  no  warmth  of 
human  sympathy,  no  moral  consciousness,  no  lessons  of  prac- 
tical wisdom.  His  tales  are  the  product  of  a  morbid  but 
powerful  imagination.  His  style  is  in  perfect  keeping  with 
his  peculiar  gifts.  He  had  a  highly  developed  artistic  sense. 
By  his  air  of  perfect  candor,  his  minuteness  of  detail,  and  his 
power  of  graphic  description,  he  gains  complete  mastery  over 
the  soul,  and  leads  us  almost  to  believe  the  impossible. 
Within  the  limited  range  of  his  imagination  (for  he  was  by  no 
means  the  universal  genius  he  fancied  himself  to  be),  he  is 
unsurpassed,  perhaps,  by  any  other  American  writer. 


160  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Poe's  career  had  now  reached  its  climax,  and  after  a  time 
began  its  rapid  descent.  In  1844  he  moved  to  New  York, 
where  for  a  year  or  two  his  life  did  not  differ  materially  from 
what  it  had  been  in  Philadelphia.  He  continued  to  write  his 
fantastic  tales,  for  which  he  was  poorly  paid,  and  to  do  edi- 
torial work,  by  which  he  eked  out  a  scanty  livelihood.  He 
was  employed  by  N.  P.  Willis  for  a  few  months  on  the  Even- 
ing Mirror  as  sub-editor  and  critic,  and  was  regularly  "at  his 
desk  from  nine  in  the  morning  till  the  paper  went  to  press." 
It  was  in  this  paper,  Jan.  29,  1845,  tnat  n^s  greatest  poem, 
"The  Raven,"  was  published  with  a  flattering  commendation 
by  Willis.  It  laid  hold  of  the  popular  fancy;  and,  copied 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  it  met  a  recep- 
tion never  before  accorded  to  an  American  poem.  Abroad 
its  success  was  scarcely  less  remarkable  and  decisive.  "This 
vivid  writing,"  wrote  Mrs.  Browning,  "this  power  -which  is  felt, 
'has  produced  a  sensation  here  in  England.  Some  of  my 
friends  are  taken  by  the  fear  of  it,  and  some  by  the  music. 
I  hear  of  persons  who  are  haunted  by  the  '  Nevermore ; '  and 
an  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  has  the  misfortune  of  pos- 
sessing a  bust  of  Pallas,  cannot  bear  to  look  at  it  in  the 
twilight." 

In  1845  Poe  was  associated  with  the  management  of  the 
Broadway  Journal,  which  in  a  few  months  passed  entirely 
into  his  hands.  He  had  long  desired  to  control  a  periodical 
of  his  own,  and  in  Philadelphia  had  tried  to  establish  a  mag- 
azine. But,  however  brilliant  as  an  editor,  he  was  not  a  man 
of  administrative  ability;  and  in  three  months  he  was  forced 
to  suspend  publication  for  want  of  means.  Shortly  afterwards 
he  published  in  Godey's  Lady's  Book  a  series  of  critical  papers 
entitled  the  "Literati  of  New  York."  The  papers,  usually 
brief,  are  gossipy,  interesting,  sensational,  with  an  occasional 
lapse  into  contemptuous  and  exasperating  severity. 

In  the  same  year  he  published  a  tolerably  complete  edition 
of  his  poems  in  the  revised  form  in  which  they  now  appear  in 
his  works.  The  volume  contained  nearly  all  the  poems  upon 


EDGAR   ALLAN  FOE.  l6l 

which  his  poetic  fame  justly  rests.  Among  the  poems  that 
may  be  regarded  as  embodying  his  highest  poetic  achievement 
are  "The  Raven,"  "Lenore,"  "Ulalume,"  "The  Bells,"  "An- 
nabel Lee,"  "The  Haunted  Palace,"  "The  Conqueror  Worm," 
"The  City  in  the  Sea,"  "Eulalie,"  and  "Israfel."  Rarely 
has  so  large  a  fame  rested  on  so  small  a  number  of  poems,  and 
rested  so  securely.  His  range  of  themes,  it  will  be  noticed, 
is  very  narrow.  As  in  his  tales,  he  dwells  in  a  weird,  fantas- 
tic, or  desolate  region  —  usually  under  the  shadow  of  death. 
He  conjures  up  unearthly  landscapes  as  a  setting  for  his  gloomy 
and  morbid  fancies.  In  "  The  City  in  the  Sea,"  for  example, 

"  There  shrines  and  palaces  and  towers 
(Time-eaten  towers  that  tremble  not!) 
Resemble  nothing  that  is  ours. 
Around,  by  lifting  winds  forgot, 
Resignedly  beneath  the  sky 
The  melancholy  waters  lie." 

He  conformed  his  poetic  efforts  to  his  theory  that  a  poem 
should  be  short.  He  maintained  that  the  phrase  "  a  long 
poem"  "is  simply  a  flat  contradiction  in  terms."  His  strong 
artistic  sense  gave  him  a  firm  mastery  over  form.  He  con- 
stantly uses  alliteration,  repetition,  and  refrain.  These  arti- 
fices form  an  essential  part  of  "The  Raven,"  "Lenore,"  and 
"The  Bells."  In  his  poems,  as  in  his  tales,  Poe  was  less 
anxious  to  set  forth  an  experience  or  a  truth  than  to  make  an 
impression.  His  poetry  aims  at  beauty  in  a  purely  artistic 
sense,  unassociated  with  truth  or  morals.  It  is  singularly 
vague,  unsubstantial,  and  melodious.  Some  of  his  poems  — 
and  precisely  those  in  which  his  genius  finds  its  highest  ex- 
pression —  defy  complete  analysis.  They  cannot  be  taken 
apart  so  that  each  thought  and  sentiment  stands  out  clear  to 
the  understanding.  "  Ulalume,"  for  instance,  remains  obscure 
after  the  twentieth  perusal  —  its  meaning  lost  in  a  haze  of  mist 
and  music.  Yet  these  poems,  when  read  in  a  sympathetic 
mood,  never  fail  of  their  effect.  They  are  genuine  creations; 


1 62  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

and,  as  fitting  expressions  of  certain  mental  states,  they  pos- 
sess an  indescribable  charm,  something  like  the  spell  of  in- 
strumental music.  There  is  no  mistaking  his  poetic  genius. 
Though  not  the  greatest,  he  is  still  the  most  original,  of  our 
poets,  and  has  fairly  earned  the  high  esteem  in  which  his  gifts 
are  held  in  America  and  Europe. 

During  his  stay  in  New  York,  Poe  was  often  present  in  the 
literary  gatherings  of  the  metropolis.  He  was  sometimes  ac- 
companied by  his  sweet,  affectionate,  invalid  wife,  whom  in  her 
fourteenth  year  he  had  married  in  Richmond.  According  to 
Griswold,  "  His  conversation  was  at  times  almost  supra-mortal 
in  its  eloquence.  His  voice  was  modulated  with  astonishing 
skill ;  and  his  large  and  variably  expressive  eyes  looked  repose 
or  shot  fiery  tumult  into  theirs  who  listened,  while  his  own  face 
glowed,  or  was  changeless  in  pallor,  as  his  imagination  quick- 
ened his  blood  or  drew  it  back  frozen  to  his  heart.  His  im- 
agery was  from  the  worlds  which  no  mortals  can  see  but  with 
the  vision  of  genius."  He  exercised  a  strong  fascination  over 
women.  "  To  a  sensitive  and  delicately  nurtured  woman,"  wrote 
Mrs.  Osgood,  "  there  was  a  peculiar  and  irresistible  charm  in 
the  chivalric,  graceful,  and  almost  tender  reverence  with  which 
he  invariably  approached  all  women  who  won  his  respect." 
His  writings  are  unstained  by  a  single  immoral  sentiment. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  his  sojourn  in  New  York,  the  hand 
of  poverty  and  want  pressed  upon  him  sorely.  The  failing 
health  of  his  wife,  to  whom  his  tender  devotion  is  beyond  all 
praise,  was  a  source  of  deep  and  constant  anxiety.  For  a  time 
he  became  an  object  of  charity  —  a  humiliation  that  was  ex- 
ceedingly galling  to  his  delicately  sensitive  nature.  To  a  sym- 
pathetic friend,  who  lent  her  kindly  aid  in  this  time  of  need, 
we  owe  a  graphic  but  pathetic  picture  of  Poe's  home  shortly 
before  the  death  of  his  almost  angelic  wife.  "  There  was  no 
clothing  on  the  bed,  which  was  only  straw,  but  a  snow-white 
counterpane  and  sheets.  The  weather  was  cold,  and  the  sick 
lady  had  the  dreadful  chills  that  accompany  the  hectic  fever  of 
consumption.  She  lay  on  the  straw  bed,  wrapped  in  her  hus- 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE.  163 

band's  great  coat,  with  a  large  tortoise-shell  cat  in  her  bosom. 
The  wonderful  cat  seemed  conscious  of  her  great  usefulness. 
The  coat  and  the  cat  were  the  sufferer's  only  means  of  warmth, 
except  as  her  husband  held  her  hands,  and  her  mother  her 
feet."  She  died  Jan.  30,  1847. 

After  this  event  Poe  was  never  entirely  himself  again.  The 
immediate  effect  of  his  bereavement  was  complete  physical  and 
mental  prostration,  from  which  he  recovered  only  with  diffi- 
culty. His  subsequent  literary  work  deserves  scarcely  more 
than  mere  mention.  His  "  Eureka,"  an  ambitious  treatise,  the 
immortality  of  which  he  confidently  predicted,  was  a  disap- 
pointment and  failure.  He  tried  lecturing,  but  with  only  mod- 
erate success.  His  correspondence  at  this  time  reveals  a 
broken,  hysterical,  hopeless  man.  In  his  weakness,  loneliness, 
and  sorrow,  he  resorted  to  stimulants  with  increasing  fre- 
quency. Their  terrible  work  was  soon  done.  On  his  return 
from  a  visit  to  Richmond,  he  stopped  in  Baltimore,  where  he 
died  from  the  effects  of  drinking,  Oct.  7,  1849. 

Thus  ended  the  tragedy  of  his  life.  It  is  as  depressing  as 
one  of  his  own  morbid,  fantastic  tales.  His  career  leaves  a 
painful  sense  of  incompleteness  and  loss.  With  greater  self- 
discipline,  how  much  more  he  might  have  accomplished  for 
himself  and  for  others  !  Gifted,  self-willed,  proud,  passionate, 
with  meagre  moral  sense,  he  forfeited  success  by  his  perver- 
sity and  his  vices.  From  his  own  character  and  experience 
he  drew  the  unhealthy  and  pessimistic  views  to  which  he  1  as 
given  expression  in  the  maddening  poem,  "The  Conqueror 
Worm."  And  if  there  were  not  happier  and  nobler  lives,  we 
might  well  say  with  him,  as  we  stand  by  his  grave  :  — 

"  Out  —  out  are  the  lights  —  out  all  1 

And  over  each  quivering  form, 
The  curtain,  a  funeral  pall, 

Comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm, 
And  the  angels,  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling,  affirm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy  '  Man,' 

And  its  hero  the  Conqueror  Worm." 


164  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

IN  literature  the  historian  records  less  of  action  than  of 
thinking.  Literature  is  a  product  of  thought.  The  biography 
of  many  great  writers  is  a  story  of  "plain  living  and  high 
thinking."  This  is  pre-eminently  true  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emer- 
son. His  outward  life  was  uneventful.  He  filled  no  high 
civic  or  political  station  ;  he  led  no  great  reformatory  move- 
ment that  changed  the  character  of  society.  His  quiet,  unosten- 
tatious life  was  devoted  to  the  discovery  and  the  proclamation 
of  truth.  As  he  said  of  Plato,  his  biography  is  interior.  From 
time  to  time,  as  he  felt  called  upon,  he  gave  forth,  in  essays, 
lectures,  and  poems,  the  choice  treasures  he  had  carefully 
stored  up  in  retirement  and  silence. 

He  deserves  to  rank  as  one  of  our  greatest  thinkers.  It 
should  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  absolute  originality  is 
far  less  frequent  than  is  sometimes  supposed.  As  some  writer 
has  wittily  said,  the  ancients  have  stolen  our  best  thoughts. 
Other  ages,  no  less  than  the  present  age,  have  had  earnest, 
reflective  souls.  The  same  problems  that  press  on  us  —  nature, 
life,  society,  freedom,  death,  destiny  —  pressed  on  them  for 
solution.  In  large  measure  the  profound  thinkers  of  the  past 
have  exhausted  the  field  of  speculative  philosophy.  "Out  of 
Plato,"  says  Emerson,  "come  all  things  that  are  still  written 
and  debated  among  men  of  thought.  Great  havoc  makes  he 
among  our  originalities."  Only  small  advances  can  be  made 
now  and  then,  even  by  the  children  of  genius.  Emerson  had 
a  deep  affinity  for  the  imperial  thinkers  of  our  race.  He 
made  them  his  intimate  friends,  and  assimilated  their  choicest 
thoughts.  He  settled  the  matter  of  plagiarism  very  simply. 
"  All  minds  quote,"  he  said.  "  Old  and  new  make  the  warp 


RALPH    WALDO    tMERSON. 


RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON.  1 65 

and  woof  of  every  moment.  There  is  no  thread  that  is  not  a 
twist  of  these  two  strands.  By  necessity,  by  proclivity,  and  by 
delight,  we  all  quote." 

Emerson  was  a  philosopher  only  in  the  broad,  original  mean- 
ing of  the  word.  He  had  but  little  power  as  a  close,  logical 
reasoner.  He  was  incapable  of  building  up  a  system.  "  I  do 
not  know,"  he  says,  "  what  arguments  mean  in  reference  to  any 
expression  of  a  thought.  I  delight  in  telling  what  I  think ;  but 
if  you  ask  me  how  I  dare  say  so,  or  why  it  is  so,  I  am  the  most 
helpless  of  mortal  men."  He  belongs  to  that  higher  class  of 
men  whom  we  revere  as  prophets  or  seers.  His  method  was 
not  logic,  but  intuition.  In  the  pure  light  of  genius,  he  saw 
the  truth  that  he  announced.  His  was  "  the  oracular  soul." 
He  does  not  argue ;  he  only  states  or  reveals.  He  gives  ut- 
terance to  what  is  communicated  to  him,  whether  men  will 
receive  it  or  not. 

There  is  an  unbroken  line  of  idealists  and  mystics  running 
through  the  ages.  While  idealism  and  mysticism  have  often 
run  into  absurd  extremes,  they  have  fostered  what  is  deepest 
and  noblest  in  life  —  belief  in  God,  in  truth,  and  in  immor- 
tality. The  greatest  representative  of  this  idealistic  tendency 
in  the  past  was  unquestionably  Plato.  Since  his  day  there 
have  been  many  others  —  Plotinus,  Augustine,  Eckhart,  Tauler, 
Schelling,  Coleridge  —  who  have  sought  to  transcend  the  realm 
of  the  senses,  and  to  commune  immediately  with  the  Infinite. 
Emerson  is  the  leading  representative  of  this  philosophy  in 
America.  It  is  the  source  of  his  inspiration  and  power;  it 
contains  in  varied  application  the  great  message  he  had  to 
deliver  to  our  superficial,  commercial,  money-loving  country. 
His  principal  essays  and  poems  rest  on  a  mystic  sense  of  the 
all-originating  and  all-pervading  presence  of  God  —  the  source 
of  all  life,  of  all  beauty,  of  all  truth. 

Yet  it  must  be  remembered  that  he  was  a  New  Englander  as 
well  as  a  transcendentalist.  In  spite  of  his  idealism  and  mys- 
ticism, he  never  cut  entirely  loose  from  common  sense.  If  at 
times  he  came  perilously  near  ecstatic  and  unintelligible  utter- 


1 66  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ance,  he  soon  recovered  his  balance.  His  sturdy  Puritan  sense 
saved  him.  His  mysticism  never  drove  him  out  of  his  com- 
fortable home  into  starving  asceticism.  It  did  not  wholly  par- 
.alyze  his  active  energies.  Notwithstanding  his  strivings  after 
communion  with  the  Over-soul,  he  was  not  so  lost  to  the  com- 
monplace obligations  of  life  as  to  neglect  his  family.  It  is  true 
that  he  often  grudged  the  time  spent  in  attending  to  ordinary 
matters  of  business.  "  Do  what  I  can,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot 
keep  my  eyes  off  the  clock."  But,  unlike  many  another  mystic, 
he  did  not  let  go  of  commonplace  realities  ;  and  in  spite  of  his 
addiction  to  ineffable  communings,  he  was  an  estimable  and 
useful  citizen. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  was  of  Puritan  descent,  and  counted 
seven  ministers  in  the  immediate  line  of  his  ancestry.  Born  in 
Boston,  May  25,  1803,  he  may  be  considered  the  consummate 
flower  of  a  healthy  and  vigorous  stock.  Nature  seems  to  have 
seized  upon  the  intellectual  and  ethical  qualities  of  his  Puritan 
ancestors,  and  to  have  wrought  them  into  the  solid  foundation 
of  his  character.  He  was  fitted  for  college  in  the  public  Latin 
School  of  Boston,  and  entered  Harvard  in  1817.  He  took 
high  rank  in  his  classes,  delighted  in  general  reading,  and  ex- 
hibited a  gentle  and  amiable  disposition.  In  his  senior  year 
he  took  the  second  prize  in  English  composition,  and  at  the 
conclusion  of  his  course,  in  1821,  delivered  the  class-day  poem. 

After  his  graduation,  Emerson  devoted  the  next  five  years 
to  teaching,  and  met  with  an  encouraging  degree  of  success. 
He  is  described  by  one  of  his  pupils  as  being  "  very  grave, 
quiet,  and  impressive  in  his  appearance.  There  was  some- 
thing engaging,  almost  fascinating,  about  him;  he  was  never 
harsh  or  severe,  always  perfectly  self-controlled,  never  pun- 
ished except  with  words,  but  exercised  complete  command  over 
the  boys/'  Along  with  his  teaching,  he  pursued  the  study 
of  theology  under  Channing,  the  great  Unitarian  leader  and 
preacher.  After  three  years  of  theological  study  he  was  "  ap- 
~|  probated  to  preach,"  though  grave  doubts  had  begun  to  trouble 
his  mind.  After  spending  a  winter  in  South  Carolina  and 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON,  1 67 

Florida  for  his  health,  he  returned  to  Boston,  and  was  ordained 
r;  as  colleague  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Ware,  pastor  of  the  Second 
Unitarian  Church.  After  the  resignation  of  his  colleague  a 
few  months  later,  Emerson  became  sole  pastor,  and  performed 
his  duties  diligently  and  acceptably.  With  a  broad  and  liberal 
spirit,  he  took  an  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  city,  served  on 
the  School  Board,  acted  as  chaplain  of  the  State  Senate,  and 
co-operated  in  the  philanthropic  work  of  other  denominations. 

His  sermons,  both  in  matter  and  form,  foreshadowed  his 
,  lectures  and  essays.  Their  profound  thought  was  clothed  in 
simple  but  felicitous  diction.  His  manner  as  a  speaker  was 
quiet,  earnest,  and  impressive.  His  voice  was  peculiarly  pleas- 
ing—  "the  perfect  music  of  spiritual  utterance."  A  brilliant 
career  lay  before  him  in  the  pulpit.  But,  as  is  usual  in  such 
cases,  his  doubts  in  regard  to  certain  points  of  Christian  doc- 
trine and  traditional  ceremonies  increased.  At  last  he  came  to 
feel  conscientious  scruples  against  administering  the  Lord's 
Supper.  His  expanding  views  outgrew  even  the  very  spacious 
liberality  of  his  church.  Had  he  been  a  time-server  or  a  hyp- 
ocrite, he  would  have  concealed  his  scruples.  But  a  man  of 
transparent  integrity,  he  frankly  avowed  his  difficulties  to  his 
people  ;  and,  finding  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  the  congre- 
gation against  his  views,  he  resigned  his  office,  and  gradually 
withdrew  from  the  ministry.  But  on  neither  side  was  there 
any  bitterness  of  feeling ;  and  whatever  errors  there  may  have 
been  in  Christian  doctrine,  we  must  recognize  the  presence  of 
the  charity  that  "  thinketh  no  evil." 

In  1833,  the  year  following  his  resignation,  he  went  to 
Europe  for  a  few  months,  and  visited  Sicily,  Italy,  France,  and 
England.  He  met  a  number  of  distinguished  authors,  among 
whom  were  Coleridge,  De  Quincey,  Landor,  Wordsworth,  and 
Carlyle.  A  "  quiet  night  of  clear,  fine  talk  "  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  warm  friendship  between  him  and  Carlyle.  His 
idealistic  tendencies  naturally  made  him  partial  to  Words- 
worth's poetry,  which  was  not  without  influence  upon  his  intel- 
lectual development. 


1 68  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

After  his  return  from  Europe,  Emerson  entered  upon  his 
new  career  as  lecturer.  For  half  a  century  he  continued  to 
appear  upon  the  platform  as  a  lecturer,  and  gradually  made 
his  way  to  a  foremost  place.  He  exemplified  the  truth  of  what 
i£  De  Quincey  wrote :  "  Whatever  is  too  original  will  be  hated  at 
the  first.  It  must  slowly  mould  a  public  for  itself."  When 
Emerson  began  to  present  his  idealistic  and  mystical  views,  he 
was  not  generally  understood.  His  philosophy  was  an  exotic 
/I  growth.  By  the  prosaic  multitude  he  was  looked  upon  as 
mildly  insane.  James  Freeman  Clarke  thus  describes  the  gen- 
eral impression  made  by  his  earlier  lectures :  "  The  majority  of 
the  sensible,  practical  community  regarded  him  as  mystical,  or 
crazy,  or  affected,  as  an  imitator  of  Carlyle,  as  racked  and  rev- 
olutionary, as  a  fool,  as  one  who  did  not  himself  know  what  he 
meant.  A  small  but  determined  minority,  chiefly  composed  of 
young  men  and  women,  admired  him  and  believed  in  him,  took 
him  for  their  guide,  teacher,  master.  I,  and  most  of  my  friends, 
belonged  to  this  class.  Without  accepting  all  his  opinions,  or 
indeed  knowing  what  they  were,  we  felt  that  he  did  us  more 
good  than  any  other  writer  or  speaker  among  us,  and  chiefly 
in  two  ways, —  first,  by  encouraging  self-reliance;  and,  sec- 
ondly, by  encouraging  God-reliance." 

Emerson  was  not,  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  term,  an  elo- 
quent speaker.  He  did  not  call  to  his  aid  the  resources  of 
intonation,  gesture,  and  vehemence.  But,  in  a  spirit  of  ear- 
nestness and  sincerity,  he  spoke  his  deepest  convictions;  and, 
in  spite  of  his  unimpassioned  delivery,  he  was  singularly  im- 
pressive. His  discourses  were  enveloped  in  an  atmosphere  of 
cheerful  hopefulness  that  was  especially  helpful  to  the  young. 
He  believed  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  truth  over  error,  and 
inculcated  a  manly  self-reliance  and  an  absolute  trust  in  God. 
Such  a  preacher  (for  he  regarded  the  platform  as  his  pulpit) 
could  not  fail  to  exert  a  profound  influence  upon  many  lives. 
James  Russell  Lowell  has  described  for  us  the  effect  of  Emer- 
son's lectures  on  his  younger  hearers  :  "  To  some  of  us  that 
long  past  experience  remains  the  most  marvellous  and  fruitful 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON.  169 

we  have  ever  had.  Emerson  awakened  us,  saved  us  from  the 
body  of  this  death.  It  is  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  that  the 
young  soul  longs  for,  careless  of  what  breath  may  fill  it.  Sid- 
ney heard  it  in  the  ballad  of  '  Chevy  Chase,'  and  we  in  Emer- 
son. Nor  did  it  blow  retreat,  but  called  us  with  assurance  of 
victory." 

In  1829,  a  few  months  after  becoming  a  pastor  in  Boston, 
Emerson  married  Miss  Ellen  Louisa  Tucker.  It  is  to  her  that 
the  poem,  "  To  Ellen  at  the  South,"  is  addressed.  Apparently 
as  delicate  as  the  flowers  that  called  to  her  in  their  devotion, 
she  died  of  consumption  in  1832.  Three  years  later  Emerson 
married  Miss  Lydia  Jackson,  and  at  once  occupied  the  house 
at  Concord  in  which  he  resided  till  his  death.  In  this  town 
of  historic  and  literary  associations,  "  He  was  surrounded  by 
men,"  to  use  the  words  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  "  who  ran 
to  extremes  in  their  idiosyncrasies  :  Alcott  in  speculations, 
which  often  led  him  into  the  fourth  dimension  of  mental  space; 
Hawthorne,  who  brooded  himself  into  a  dream-peopled  soli- 
tude ;  Thoreau,  the  nullifier  of  civilization,  who  insisted  on 
nibbling  his  asparagus  at  the  wrong  end ;  to  say  nothing  of 
idolaters  and  echoes.  He  kept  his  balance  among  them  all." 
He  became  the  most  distinguished  citizen  of  the  place  ;  and, 
as  the  years  passed  by,  his  home  became  the  object  of  pious 
pilgrimages  for  his  disciples  and  admirers.  In  1836  he  com- 
posed the  "  Concord  Hymn,"  which  was  sung  at  the  comple- 
tion of  the  battle  monument :  — 

"By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 

Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 
Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world." 

For  some  years  Emerson's  studies  had  been  in  the  line  of 
idealistic  and  mystical  philosophy.  He  gave  much  time  to 
Plato  ;  dipped  into  Plotinus  and  the  German  mystics ;  read 
with  enthusiasm  the  poems  of  George  Herbert,  and  the  prose 
writings  of  Cudworth,  Henry  More,  Milton,  Jeremy  Taylor, 


I7O  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

and  Coleridge.  In  1836,  as  a  result  of  these  studies,  he 
published  a  little  volume  entitled  "  Nature,"  which  contained 
the  substance  of  his  subsequent  teachings  in  both  prose  and 
poetry.  It  is  based  on  a  pure  idealism,  which  teaches  that 
matter  is  only  a  manifestation  of  spirit.  "  We  learn  that  the 
Highest  is  present  to  the  soul  of  man,  that  the  dread  universal 
Essence,  which  is  not  wisdom,  or  love,  or  beauty,  or  power, 
but  all  in  one,  and  each  entirely,  is  that  for  which  all  things 
exist,  and  that  by  which  they  are  ;  that  spirit  creates  ;  that 
behind  nature,  throughout  nature,  spirit  is  present ;  that  spirit 
is  one,  and  not  compound  ;  that  spirit  does  not  act  upon  us 
from  without,  that  is,  in  space  and  time,  but  spiritually,  or 
through  ourselves."  The  book  was  variously  judged,  according 
to  the  insight  or  prejudices  of  the  critics.  From  its  very  na- 
ture it  could  not  be  popular,  and  some  years  elapsed  before 
it  reached  a  sale  of  five  hundred  copies. 

The  year  "  Nature  "  was  published,  the  transcendental  move- 

Z-  ment  began  to  assume  tangible  form.  Its  representatives, 
drawn  together  by  common  sympathies  and  aspirations,  organ- 
ized themselves  into  a  society  for  mutual  aid  and  encour- 
agement. Thi-s  society  was  known  as  "The  Transcendental 
Club,"  and  held  informal  meetings  from  house  to  house  for  the 
discussion  of  philosophical  questions.  As  a  class  the  trans- 
cendentalists,  among  whom  were  Emerson,  Alcott,  Channing, 
George  Ripley,  Theodore  Parker,  James  Freeman  Clarke, 
Thoreau,  Margaret  Fuller,  and  others,  were  earnest  in  their 

/  o  search  after  truth.  They  were  optimistic,  and  generally  favor- 
able to  all  sorts  of  reforms  and  innovations  ;  but  occasionally 
they  were  also  extravagant  and  impractical  —  such  people,  in 
short,  as  in  the  hard  realism  of  to-day  are  denominated  cranks. 

_-^  Transcendentalism  is  but  another  name  for  idealism.  It 
recognizes  an  all-pervading  spiritual  presence  as  the  ultimate 
reality.  It  is  opposed  to  materialism.  It  teaches  that  man 
has  a  faculty  transcending  the  senses  and  the  understanding 
as  an  organ  of  truth.  It  believes  in  the  existence  of  a  Univer- 
sal Reason,  of  which  the  human  soul  is  an  individual  manifes- 


RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON.  .         I /I 

tation — a  divine  spark.  The  highest  knowledge  is  intuitional; 
it  is  an  inspiration  of  the  omnipresent  Spirit.  All  things,  ani- 
mate and  inanimate,  are  but  a  manifestation  of  infinite  Spirit, 
which  binds  the  universe  together  in  a  sublime  unity,  and  is 
the  source  of  all  wisdom,  truth,  and  beauty.  The  material 
world  is  the  image  or  symbol  of  the  spiritual  world  ;  all  natural 
objects  and  laws  are  ideas  of  God. 

It  was  for  the  dissemination  of  these  philosophic  principles, 
which  now  gave  character  to  all  of  Emerson's  thinking,  that 
The  Dial  was  established.  It  was  edited  at  first  by  Margaret 
Fuller,  and  afterwards  by  Emerson,  who  furnished  numerous 
contributions  in  both  prose  and  poetry.  Of  course  the  maga- 
zine, with  its  vague  and  often  unintelligible  lucubrations,  drew 
upon  itself  a  good  deal  of  hostile  criticism.  Emerson  com- 
plained that  it  was  "honored  by  attacks  from  almost  every 
newspaper  and  magazine."  Even  Carlyle  wrote  :  "  I  love  your 
Dial,  and  yet  it  is  with  a  kind  of  shudder.  You  seem  to  me 
in  danger  of  dividing  yourselves  from  the  Fact  of  this  present 
Universe,  in  which  alone,  ugly  as  it  is,  can  I  find  any  anchor- 
age, and  soaring  away  after  Ideas,  Beliefs,  Revelations,  and 
such  like,  —  into  perilous  altitudes,  as  I  think."  It  proved 
too  ethereal  a  plant  for  this  hard,  common-sense  world,  and 
after  four  years  it  died. 

There  was  still  another  important  product  of  the  transcen- 
dental movement.  In  1840  Emerson  wrote  to  Carlyle  :  "  We 
are  all  a  little  wild  here  with  numberless  projects  of  social 
reform.  Not  a  reading  man  but  has  a  draft  of  a  new  com- 
munity in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  I  am  gently  mad  myself,  and 
am  resolved  to  live  cleanly.  George  Ripley  is  talking  up  a 
colony  of  agriculturists  and  scholars,  with  whom  he  threatens 
to  take  the  field  and  the  book.  One  man  renounces  the  use  of 
animal  food  ;  and  another,  coin  ;  and  another,  domestic  hired 
service  ;  and  another,  the  state ;  and,  on  the  whole,  we  have 
a  commendable  share  of  reason  and  hope."  The  following 
year  Ripley's  project  took  form  in  "  The  Brook  Farm  Associa- 
tion for  Education  and  Agriculture."  The  object  of  the  asso- 


1 72  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

elation,  in  the  words  of  its  originator,  was  "to  insure  a  more 
natural  union  between  intellectual  and  manual  labor  than  now 
exists ;  to  combine  the  thinker  and  the  worker,  as  far  as  possi- 
ble, in  the  same  individual ;  to  guarantee  the  highest  mental 
freedom  by  providing  all  with  labor  adapted  to  their  tastes 
and  talents,  and  securing  to  them  the  fruits  of  their  industry." 
Its  aim,  in  short,  was  to  furnish  a  model  of  an  ideal  civiliza- 
tion, in  which  there  would  be  the  least  possible  manual  toil, 
and  the  largest  amount  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  culture. 
Emerson,  while  looking  on  the  experiment  with  friendly  inter- 
est, held  aloof  from  active  participation.  His  profound  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature  seems  to  have  inspired  misgivings  as  to 
its  practical  workings.  Yet  when  the  Brook  Farm  Association 
came  to  an  end  in  1846,  he  pronounced  it  in  its  aims  a  noble 
and  generous  movement. 

In  1841  Emerson  published  his  first  volume  of  "Essays," 
containing  History,  Self-Reliance,  Compensation,  Spiritual  Laws, 
Love,  Friendship,  Prudence,  Heroism,  The  Over-Soul,  Circles, 
Intellect,  and  Art.  Composed  under  the  fresh  inspiration  of 
his  idealism,  these  essays  are  unsurpassed  in  depth  and  rich- 
ness by  anything  he  subsequently  wrote.  Perhaps  nothing 
more  suggestive  and  inspiring  has  been  produced  in  the  whole 
range  of  American  literature.  But  when  the  "  Essays "  ap- 
peared, New  England  did  not  breathe  freely  at  such  altitudes 
of  speculation ;  and  various  critics,  failing  to  catch  its  funda- 
mental philosophy,  stigmatized  the  book  as  vague,  extravagant, 
meaningless. 

It  is  worth  while  to  dwell  for  a  moment  on  this  work.  To 
;  ^understand  it  is  to  master  Emerson.  The  first  essay,  on  His- 
tory, sounds  the  key-note  to  the  whole  series :  "  There  is  one 
mind  common  to  all  individual  men.  Every  man  is  an  inlet  to 
the  same  and  to  all  of  the  same.  He  that  is  once  admitted 
to  the  right  of  reason  is  made  a  freeman  of  the  whole  estate. 
What  Plato  has  thought,  he  may  think  ;  what  a  saint  has  felt, 
he  may  feel ;  what  at  any  time  has  befallen  any  man,  he  can 
understand.  Who  hath  access  to  this  universal  mind  is  a  party 


RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON.  173 

to  all  that  is  or  can  be  done,  for  this  is  the  only  sovereign 
agent."  The  verses  prefixed  as  a  kind  of  motto  or  text  em- 
body the  same  idea :  — 

"  There  is  no  great  and  no  small 
To  the  Soul  that  maketh  all ; 
And  where  it  cometh,  all  things  are ; 
And  it  cometh  everywhere." 

The  following  lines,'  presenting  the  same  thought  in  more 
concrete  form,  will  be  found  a  little  startling :  — 

"  I  am  owner  of  the  sphere, 
Of  the  seven  stars  and  the  solar  year, 
Of  Caesar's  hand,  and  Plato's  brain, 
Of  Lord  Christ's  heart,  and  Shakespeare's  strain." 

In  Self-Reliance,  Emerson  urges  us  to  be  true  to  our  own 
thought,  to  trust  our  own  conviction,  to  shake  off  all  spiritual 
bondage.  No  less  than  other  men,  whether  of  the  present  age 
or  former  ages,  we  are  organs  of  the  Universal  Reason.  "  We 
lie  in  the  lap  of  immense  Intelligence,  which  makes  us  organs 
of  its  activity  and  receivers  of  its  truth.  When  we  discern 
justice,  when  we  discern  truth,  we  do  nothing  of  ourselves,  but 
allow  a  passage  to  its  beams.  If  we  ask  whence  this  comes, 
if  we  seek  to  pry  into  the  soul  that  causes,  —  all  metaphysics, 
all  philosophy,  is  at  fault.  Its  presence  or  its  absence  is  all  we 
can  affirm."  The  same  thought,  which  lies  at  the  basis  of 
nearly  all  his  Essays  in  inexhaustible  richness,  is  fully  devel- 
oped in  The  Over-Soul. 

Emerson's  life  at  this  time  was  simple,  busy,  studious.  He 
took  a  lively  interest  in  his  vegetable  garden  and  in  his  little 
orchard  of  thirty  trees.  He  had  an  income  of  about  thirteen 
hundred  dollars  from  invested  funds,  to  which  he  added  eight 
hundred  dollars  by  his  winter  lectures.  In  a  letter  to  Carlyle, 
dated  May  10,  1838,  he  gives  us  a  pleasing  glimpse  of  his 
home  life:  "  My  wife  Lydia  is  an  incarnation  of  Christianity  — 
I  call  her  Asia  —  and  keeps  my  philosophy  from  Antinomian- 


174  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ism ;  my  mother,  whitest,  mildest,  most  conservative  of  ladies, 
whose  only  exception  to  her  universal  preference  for  old  things 
is  her  son  ;  my  boy,  a  piece  of  love  and  sunshine,  well  worth 
my  watching  from  morning  to  night,  —  these,  and  three  domes- 
tic women,  who  cook  and  sew  and  run  for  us,  make  all  my 
household.  Here  I  sit  and  read  and  write,  with  very  little 
system,  and.  as  far  as  regards  composition,  with  the  most  frag- 
mentary results  :  paragraphs  incompressible,  each  sentence  an 
infinitely  repellent  particle." 

But,  alas  !  this  quiet  abode  of  domestic  joy  was  not  to  re- 
main unsmitten.  That  idolized  boy  of  five  years  —  that  "piece 
of  love  and  sunshine "  —  was  taken  away.  "  A  few  weeks 
ago,"  wrote  the  stricken  father,  "  I  accounted  myself  a  very 
rich  man,  and  now  the  poorest  of  all."  His  grief  blossomed 
in  the  "  Threnody,"  one  of  the  noblest  elegies  ever  written. 
To  his  overwhelming  sorrow,  doubt,  and  despair,  "the  deep 
Heart "  back  of  all  things  at  last  spoke  comfort  and  cheer :  — 

"  Wilt  thou  not  ope  thy  heart  to  know 
What  rainbows  teach,  and  sunsets  show  ? 
Verdict  which  accumulates 
From  lengthening  scroll  of  human  fates, 
Voice  of  earth  to  earth  returned, 
Prayers  of  saints  that  inly  burned,  — 
Saying,    What  is  excellent 
As  God  lives,  is  permanent ; 
Hearts  are  dust,  hearts'1  loves  remain ; 
Hearts'  love  will  meet  thee  again" 

In  1844  Emerson  published  a  second  volume  of  "Essays" 
in  his  characteristic  vein.  Almost  every  year,  from  the  time 
he  gave  up  his  pastoral  work,  added  to  the  list  of  his  notable 
addresses.  He  brought  his  idealism  to  bear  on  various  ques- 
tions connected  with  theology,  education,  and  government.  In 
theology  he  drifted  farther  away  from  orthodox  Unitarianism  ; 
and  an  address  delivered  before  the  senior  class  of  Divinity 
College,  Cambridge,  in  1838,  caused  a  sensation  and  started  a 
controversy,  in  which  he  "had  little  more  than  the  part  of  Pa- 


RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON.  1/5 

troclus  when  the  Greeks  and  Trojans  fought  over  his  body." 
He  was  not  a  controversialist,  but  a  seer.  He  deplored  the 
materialistic  tendency  of  this  rapidly  developing  commercial 
age,  and  raised  his  warning  voice.  In  a  college  address  in 
1841  he  declares  that  the  thirst  for  wealth  "  acts  like  the 
neighborhood  of  a  gold-mine  to  impoverish  the  farm,  the 
school,  the  church,  the  house,  and  the  very  body  and  feature 
of  man."  His  face  was  turned  to  the  future  with  perpetual 
youth,  and  his  message  always  carried  with  it  encouragement 
and  hope.  He  sympathized  with  every  reformatory  movement 
that  promised  a  better  social  condition.  He  favored  the  aboli- 
tion of  slavery,  and  encouraged  the  movement  for  "woman's 
rights."  In  an  address  in  1855,  he  said:  "The  new  move- 
ment is  only  a  tide  shared  by  the  spirits  of  man  and  woman  ; 
and  you  may  proceed  in  the  faith  that  whatever  the  woman's 
heart  is  prompted  to  desire,  the  man's  mind  is  simultaneously 
prompted  to  accomplish." 

In  1847  Emerson  made  a  second  visit  to  England,  and  de- 
livered a  number  of  lectures  to  enthusiastic  audiences.  The 
best  of  these  lectures  he  afterwards  published  under  the  title 
-of  "Representative  Men."  It  is  one  of  his  most  interesting 
and  valuable  works,  intelligent  even  to  the  uninitiated.  In 
1856  appeared  his  "  English  Traits,"  in  which  he  embodied  the 
shrewd  observation  and  interesting  reflections  of  his  sojourn 
in  England.  He  was  delighted  with  English  life,  which,  of 
course,  he  saw  on  the  best  side  ;  but  he  still  preserved  his 
equilibrium  sufficiently  to  smile  at  a  foible,  or  point  out  an  un- 
flattering truth.  Of  Emerson's  other,  prose  works,  "The  Con- 
duct of  Life,"  "  Society  and  Solitude,"  "  Letters  and  Social 
Aims,"  though  meriting  extended  notice,  no  more  than  mere 
mention  can  be  made. 

In  1846  Emerson  published  his  first  volume  of  "Poems," 
and  in  1867  appeared  "  May  Day  and  Other  Pieces."  In  spite 
of  Matthew  Arnold's  judgment  to  the  contrary,  Emerson  was  a 
true  poet,  as  well  as  an  impressive  lecturer  and  surpassing  es- 
sayist. His  poetry,  no  less  than  his  prose,  is  pervaded  by  his 


176  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

idealistic  philosophy.     In  his  admirable  poem,  "  Wood-Notes," 
he  thus  speaks  of  nature :  — 

"  Ever  fresh  the  broad  creation, 
A  divine  improvisation, 
From  the  heart  of  God  proceeds, 
A  single  will,  a  million  deeds." 

As  a  product  of  spirit,  the  world  is  full  of  meaning.  It  is 
pervaded  by  a  divine  symbolism,  which  it  is  the  office  of  the 
poet  to  read  and  interpret.  Emerson  calls  the  world  "  a  temple, 
whose  walls  are  covered  with  emblems,  pictures,  and  command- 
ments of  the  Deity."  "  Poetry,"  he  says,  "  is  the  perpetual 
endeavor  to  express  the  spirit  of  the  thing."  Nature  is  to 
him  a  continual  revelation;  hence  he  says  in  the  little  poem, 
"  Good-by, "  — 

"And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools  and  the  learned  clan ; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet?" 

Emerson  took  his  poetic  office  seriously.  He  considered 
poetry  the  highest  vocation.  "  The  poet,"  he  says,  "  is  the 
sayer,  the  namer,  and  represents  beauty.  He  is  a  sovereign, 
and  stands  at  the  centre.  For  the  world  is  not  painted  or 
adorned,  but  is  from  the  beginning  beautiful;  and  God  has  not 
made  some  beautiful  thirjgs,  but  Beauty  is  the  creator  of  the 
universe.  Therefore  the  poet  is  not  any  permissive  potentate, 
but  is  emperor  in  his  own  right."  In  "Merlin,"  Emerson 

says : — 

"  Thy  trivial  harp  will  never  please 
Or  fill  my  craving  ear; 

Its  chords  should  ring  as  blows  the  breeze, 
Free,  peremptory,  clear. 
No  jingling  serenader's  art, 
Nor  tinkle  of  piano  strings, 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON.  177 

Can  make  the  wild  blood  start 
In  its  mystic  springs." 

Impressed  with  the  grandeur  of  the  poet's  vocation,  Emer- 
son was  more  or  less  indifferent  to  the  art  of  versification.  He 
rose  above  ingenious  tricks  and  petty  fancies.  He  has  been 
called  a  poet  "wanting  the  accomplishment  of  verse."  He 
depended  for  success  upon  grandeur  of  thought,  and  truth  of 
revelation.  "  For  it  is  not  metres,"  he  says,  "  but  a  metre- 
making  argument,  that  makes  a  poem,  —  a  thought  so  passion- 
ate and  alive,  that,  like  the  spirit  of  a  plant  or  an  animal,  it 
has  an  architecture  of  its  own,  and  adorns  nature  with  a  new 
thing."  Again  in  "Merlin,"  he  says:  — 

"Great  is  the  art, 
Great  be  the  manners,  of  the  bard. 
He  shall  not  his  brain  encumber 
With  the  coil  of  rhythm  and  number; 
But,  leaving  rule  and  pale  forethought, 
He  shall  aye  climb 
For  his  rhyme." 

Emerson  was  a  loving  student  of  nature.  He  reminds  us 
of  Wordsworth  in  his  painstaking  observation.  His  exqui- 
site appreciation  of  natural  beauty  is  often  expressed  in  words 
nobly  wedded  to  the  sense.  In  "  The  Snow-Storm,"  the  retiring 
north  wind  — 

"  Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 
To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 
Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night-work, 
The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow." 

And  again  in  "  Wood-Notes  :  "  — 

"Thou  canst  not  wave  thy  staff  in  air, 
Or  dip  thy  paddle  in  the  lake, 
But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there, 
And  the  ripples  in  rhymes  the  oar  forsake." 

He  deduces  from  the  humblest  objects  in  nature  the  richest 
lessons  of  practical  wisdom.  To  him  the  humblebee  is  — 


178  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher. 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet, 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff,  and  take  the  wheat." 

He  knew  the  sweet,  soothing  influence  of  nature,  of  which 
Bryant  spoke.  In  "  Musketaquid,"  he  says  :  — 

"  All  my  hurts 

My  garden  spade  can  heal.     A  woodland  walk, 
A  quest  of  river  grapes,  a  mocking  thrush, 
A  wild  rose,  or  rock-loving  columbine, 
Salves  my  worst  wounds." 

Notwithstanding  his  treasures  of  beauty  and  wisdom,  Emer- 
son can  hardly  be  a  popular  poet.  He  dwells  in  the  higher 
regions  of  song.  He  must  be  content  with  a  small  but  select 
audience.  He  does  not  deal  in  sentimentality  —  "  poetry  fit  to 
be  put  round  frosted  cake ; "  he  does  not  clothe  his  thought  in 
the  richest  music  of  numbers.  He  is  profoundly  thoughtful ; 
he  earnestly  strives  to  voice  the  speechless  messages  of  the 
Over-soul.  He  grows  upon  us  as  we  grasp  more  fully  his 
meaning.  Though  not  the  most  entertaining  of  our  poets,  he 
brings  us  the  deepest  and  most  helpful  messages.  His  poetry, 
like  his  prose,  brings  courage  and  hope  to  burdened  and  strug- 
gling men.  He  calls  them  to  sincerity,  to  faith,  to  truth.  In 
the  tasks  that  come  to  us,  divine  help  is  near :  — 

"  So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
So  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  Duty  whispers  low,    Thou  must, 
The  youth  replies,  /  can." 

If  there  are  any  who  question  this  estimate,  let  them  read, 
besides  the  poems  already  mentioned,  "Each  and  All,"  "The 
Problem,"  "The  Rhodora,"  "Astraea,"  "Sursum  Corda,"  "Ode 


RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON.  179 

to  Beauty,"  "  Give  All  to  Love,"  "  Voluntaries,"  and  many 
others. 

Emerson  was  peculiar  in  his  literary  methods.  It  is  doubt- 
ful whether  we  have  had  another  author  so  frugal  in  husband- 
ing  every  thought.  Besides  the  work  done  in  his  study  day 
by  day,  he  was  accustomed  to  jot  down  in  a  note-book  the 
stray  thoughts  that  came  to  him  in  conversation  or  on  his 
walks.  The  suggestions  that  occurred  to  him  in  his  studies, 
conversations,  and  meditations  he  elaborated  in  a  common- 
place book,  where  he  noted  the  subject  of  each  paragraph.  He 
thus  preserved  the  best  thoughts  of  his  most  fertile  moments. 
When  he  had  occasion  to  prepare  an  essay  or  a  lecture,  he 
brought  together  all  the  paragraphs  relating  to  the  subject  in 
his  commonplace  books,  supplying,  at  the  same  time,  such  new 
connective  matter  as  might  be  necessary.  This  method  will 
explain  the  evident  absence  of  logical  treatment  in  most  of  his 
writings,  and  also  account  for  the  fact,  noted  by  Alcott,  that 
"  you  may  begin  at  the  last  paragraph  and  read  backwards." 
Emerson  subjected  his  writings  to  repeated  and  exacting  revis- 
ions. Paragraphs  were  condensed,  and  every  superfluous  sen- 
tence and  word  were  mercilessly  pruned  away.  "  Nowhere 
else,"  as  Burroughs  says,  "  is  there  such  a  preponderance  of 
pure  statement,  of  the  very  attar  of  thought,  over  the  bulkier, 
circumstantial,  qualifying,  or  secondary  elements." 

The  year  1867  is  indicated  as  about  the  limit  of  his  work- 
ing life.  He  gave  pathetic  expression  to  his  experience  in  the 
poem  entitled  "  Terminus  :  "  — 

"  It  is  time  to  be  old, 
To  take  in  sail :  — 
The  god  of  bounds, 
Who  sets  to  seas  a  shore, 
Came  to  me  in  his  fatal  rounds, 
And  said  '  No  more.'  " 

The  closing  years  of  his  life  resembled  an  ever-deepening 
twilight.  Hearing,  sight,  memory,  slowly  but  gradually  gave 


ISO  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

way.  At  last,  April  27,  1882,  surrounded  by  those  he  loved, 
he  was  beckoned  "to  his  vaster  home."  Shall  we  not  say  that 
his  life  was  beautiful  ?  Men  testified  of  him  that  he  was  radi- 

(ant  with  goodness,  that  his  presence  was  like  a  benediction, 
that  he  exhibited  the  meekness  and  gentleness  of  Christ.  To 
have  been  such  a  man  is  better  than  to  have  been  a  great 
writer. 


NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  i8l 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE. 

IT  is  not  difficult  to  portray  the  lives  of  ordinary  men. 
Their  outward  circumstances  present  nothing  unusual,  and 
their  inward  experiences  admit  of  ready  comprehension  and 
description.  All  that  is  needed  in  such  cases  is  diligent  re- 
search. But  it  is  different  with  the  man  upon  whom  Provi- 
dence has  lavished  such  a  wealth  of  gifts  as  raises  him  high 
above  his  fellows.  The  outward  incidents  of  his  life  may 
indeed  be  easily  narrated.  But  when  these  have  been  pre- 
sented in  the  fullest  measure,  how  inadequate  and  unsatisfac- 
tory the  portrait  still  remains  !  That  which  distinguishes  him 
from  other  men,  and  exalts  him  above  them,  is  felt  to  be 
untouched.  And  when  we  essay  to  penetrate  the  secret  of 
his  genius,  we  are  puzzled  and  baffled  at  every  step.  Only 
unsatisfactory  glimpses  reward  our  most  patient  observation. 
Strange  and  beautiful  flowers  may  burst  forth  under  our  very 
gaze  ;  but  the  marvellous  energy  that  produces  them  remains 
invisible  and  mysterious.  These  reflections  force  themselves 
upon  us  as  we  study  the  life  of  the  most  original  and  most 
gifted  of  all  our  American  writers. 

The  interesting  historic  town  of  Salem,  Mass.,  has  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  the  birthplace  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 
Here  he  first  saw  the  light,  July  4,  1804.  He  sprang  from  Puri- 
tan stock  almost  as  old  as  the  Plymouth  colony.  The  strong 
traits  of  his  ancestry,  as  he  himself  recognized,  intertwined 
themselves  with  his  personality.  His  ancestors  occupied  a 
position  of  social  and  official  prominence,  and  won  an  unen- 
viable distinction  in  persecuting  Quakers  and  killing  witches. 
For  a  hundred  years  before  his  birth  they  followed  the  sea ; 
"a  gray-headed  shipmaster,-  in  each  generation,  retiring  from 


1 82  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

the  quarterdeck  to  the  homestead,  while  a  boy  of  fourteen  took 
the  hereditary  place  before  the  mast,  confronting  the  salt  spray 
and  the  gale,  which  had  blustered  against  his  sire  and  grand- 
sire."  His  father  was  a  reserved,  thoughtful  man  of  strong 
will ;  his  mother,  a  gifted,  sensitive  woman,  who  led  the  life 
of  a  recluse  after  her  husband's  death.  These  traits,  as  will 
be  seen,  were  transmitted  to  their  son  in  an  intensified  degree. 

Only  glimpses  of  his  boyhood  —  brief,  but  very  distinct  — 
are  afforded  us.  "  One  of  the  peculiarities  of  my  boyhood," 
he  tells  us,  "  was  a  grievous  disinclination  to  go  to  school,  and 
(Providence  favoring  me  in  this  natural  repugnance)  I  never 
did  go  half  as  much  as  other  boys,  partly  owing  to  delicate 
health  (which  I  made  the  most  of  for  the  purpose),  and  partly 
because,  much  of  the  time,  there  were  no  schools  within  reach." 
One  of  his  early  teachers  was  Worcester  of  dictionary  fame. 
He  spent  a  year  at  Raymond  on  the  banks  of  Sebago  Lake  in 
Maine,  where  he  ran  wild,  hunting,  fishing,  skating,  and  read- 
ing at  pleasure,  —  a  period  that  subsequently  remained  with 
him  as  a  happy  memory.  Returning  to  Salem,  he  was  tutored 
for  college,  and  entered  Bowdoin  in  the  autumn  of  1821. 

His  college  career  cannot  be  cited  as  a  model.  "  I  was 
an  idle  student,"  he  confesses,  "  negligent  of  college  rules  and 
the  Procrustean  details  of  academic  life,  rather  choosing  to 
nurse  my  own  fancies  than  to  dig  into  Greek  roots  and  be 
numbered  among  the  learned  Thebans."  He  played  cards  on 
the  sly ;  he  drank  (a  student  never  drinks  anything  stronger) 
"wine"  and  "hard  cider;"  he  went  fishing  and  hunting  when 
the  faculty  thought  he  was  at  his  books.  But  in  spite  of  his 
easy-going  habits  he  maintained  a  respectable  standing  in  his 
classes,  and  his  Latin  composition  and  his  rendering  of  the  clas- 
sics were  favorably  spoken  of.  He  was  an  exceedingly  hand- 
some young  man ;  and  it  is  said  that  an  old  gypsy  woman, 
suddenly  meeting  him  in  a  lonely  forest  path,  was  startled  into 
the  question,  "  Are  you  a  man  or  an  angel  ? "  Among  his 
college  associates,  who  afterwards  achieved  distinction,  were 
Henry  W.  Longfellow  and  Franklin  Pierce. 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  183 

The  youth  of  Hawthorne  gave  no  startling  premonitions  of 
future  greatness.  But  there  is  evidence  that  he  was  not  uncon- 
scious of  his  latent  extraordinary  powers ;  and  some  at  least 
of  his  intimate  friends  discerned  his  literary  gifts.  In  a  letter  to 
his  mother,  written  in  his  boyhood,  he  says :  "  I  do  not  want  to 
be  a  doctor  and  live  by  man's  diseases,  nor  a  minister  to  live 
by  their  sins,  nor  a  lawyer  and  live  by  their  quarrels  ;  so  I 
don't  see  that  there  is  anything  left  for  me  but  to  be  an  author. 
How  would  you  like,  some  day,  to  see  a  whole  shelf  full  of 
books  written  by  your  son,  with  '  Hawthorne's  Works '  printed 
on  their  backs  ?  "  To  Horatio  Bridge,  an  old  and  intimate 
friend,  he  says:  "I  know  not  whence  your  faith  came;  but 
while  we  were  lads  together  at  a  country  college,  .  .  .  doing  a 
hundred  things  that  the  faculty  never  heard  of,  or  else  it  had 
been  the  worse  for  us,  still  it  was  your  prognostic  of  your 
friend's  destiny  that  he  was  to  be  a  writer  of  fiction." 

His  youthful  reading  was  sufficiently  extensive.  "  The  Pil- 
grim's Progress,"  as  with  so  many  others,  was  a  favorite  book. 
He  read  Scott,  Rousseau,  and  Froissart,  though  he  was  not  fond 
of  history  in  general.  He  loved  poetry;  and  with  catholic  taste 
he  studied  Thomson  and  Pope,  as  well  as  Milton  and  Shake- 
speare. The  first  book  he  bought  with  his  own  money  was 
"The  Faerie  Queene."  But  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  he  was 
a  great  lover  of  books.  He  never  made  any  pretence  to  schol- 
arship, and  there  are  few  quotations  in  his  writings.  But  he 
was  one  of  the  keenest  observers ;  and  the  books  he  loved  most 
were  the  forms  of  nature  and  the  faces  of  men.  These  he  read 
as  it  were  by  stealth ;  and,  excepting  the  mighty  Shakespeare, 
no  one  else  ever  read  them  more  deeply.  The  quiet  forest  and 
the  stirring  city  were  to  him  great  libraries,  where  he  traced  the 
almost  invisible  writing  of  the  Creator.  Thus,  as  he  said  of 
the  simple  husbandman  in  "  The  Great  Stone  Face,"  he  "  had 
ideas  unlike  those  of  other  men,  not  gained  from  books,  but 
of  a  higher  tone,  —  a  tranquil  and  familiar  majesty,  as  if  he 
had  been  talking  with  the  angels  as  his  daily  friends." 

After  his  graduation,  in   1825,  Hawthorne  returned  to  his 


1 84  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

home  in  Salem,  and  for  several  years  led  a  life  of  phenomenal 
seclusion  and  toil.  His  habits  were  almost  mechanical  in  their 
regularity.  He  studied  in  the  morning,  wrote  in  the  afternoon, 
and  wandered  by  the  seashore  in  the  evening.  He  sedulously 
shunned  society;  and  "destiny  itself,"  he  afterwards  wrote, 
"has  often  been  worsted  in  the  attempt  to  get  me  out  to 
dinner."  But  his  recluse  life  should  not  be  looked  upon  as 
gloomy  and  morbid.  In  pondering  human  life,  he  was  indeed 
fond  of  the  weird  and  the  mysterious.  He  explored  the  hidden 
crypts  of  the  soul.  But  his  mind  was  far  too  healthy  and  strong 
to  be  weighed  down  with  permanent  gloom.  He  never  lost  his 
anchorage  of  common  sense ;  and  a  genial  humor  cast  its  cheer- 
ful light  upon  his  darkest  musings. 

During  this  period  of  retirement  he  was  serving  a  laborious 
apprenticeship  to  his  craft.  Never  was  a  writer  more  exacting 
in  self-criticism.  Much  that  he  wrote  was  mercilessly  consigned 
to  the  flames.  In  these  years  of  painstaking  toil,  from  which 
even  the  highest  genius  is  not  exempt,  he  acquired  his  exquisite 
sense  of  form,  and  his  marvellous  mastery  of  English.  "  Haw- 
thorne's English,"  as  Hillard  says,  "is  absolutely  unique;  very 
careful  and  exact,  but  never  studied  ;  with  the  best  word  always 
in  the  best  place  ;  pellucid  as  crystal ;  full  of  delicate  and  va- 
ried music ;  with  gleams  of  poetry,  and  touches  of  that  peculiar 
humor  of  his,  which  is  half  smile  and  half  sigh." 

During  the  period  in  question  he  published  in  the  Token,  the 
New  England  Magazine,  and  other  periodicals  a  considerable 
number  of  tales.  They  appeared  anonymously,  and  attracted 
but  little  attention.  Hawthorne  had  for  a  good  many  years 
what  he  called  "  the  distinction  of  being  the  obscurest  man  of 
letters  in  America."  It  was  a  grievous  disappointment  and 
humiliation.  In  1837  most  of  these  scattered  productions  were 
brought  together,  and  published  in  a  volume  with  the  happy 
title  of  "Twice-Told  Tales."  It  had  but  a  limited  circulation. 
While  it  charmed  a  class  of  cultivated,  reflective  readers,  its 
very  excellence  prevented  it  from  becoming  widely  popular. 
In  a  review  of  the  book,  Longfellow,  with  clear,  critical  acumen, 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  185 

said :  "  It  comes  from  the  hand  of  a  man  of  genius.  Every- 
thing about  it  has  the  freshness  of  morning  and  of  May.  These 
flowers  and  green  leaves  of  poetry  have  not  the  dust  of  the 
highway  upon  them.  They  have  been  gathered  fresh  from  the 
secret  places  of  a  peaceful  and  gentle  heart.  There  flow  deep 
waters,  silent,  calm,  and  cool;  and  the  green  trees  look  into 
them,  and  'God's  blue  heaven.'  The  book,  though  in  prose,  is 
written,  nevertheless,  by  a  poet.  He  looks  upon  all  things  in 
the  spirit  of  love  and  with  lively  sympathies  ;  for  to  him  exter- 
nal form  is  but  the  representation  of  internal  being,  all  things 
having  a  life,  and  end  and  aim."  This  volume,  together  with 
a  second  series  of  "  Tales  "  published  in  1842,  was  in  truth  a 
remarkable  contribution  to  American  literature,  and  by  its 
enduring  interest,  beauty,  and  truth,  has  since  established  itself 
as  a  classic. 

The  year  1838  brought  an  important  change  in  Hawthorne's 
Irfe.  Under  the  Democratic  administration  of  Van  Buren,  he 
was  appointed  weigher  and  gauger  in  the  Boston  Custom- 
house. It  was  well  for  him  that  he  was  thus  called  to  com- 
mon labor.  He  himself  recognized  that  his  life  of  seclusion 
had  been  sufficiently  protracted.  "  I  want  to  have  something 
to  do  with  this  material  world,"  he  said.  His  new  employment 
rescued  him  from  the  danger  of  becoming  morbid,  broadened 
his  sympathies,  and  enriched  his  mind  with  new  stores  of  ob- 
servation and  experience.  He  learned  to  know  life,  not  as  it 
may  be  conceived  of  in  seclusion,  but  as  it  is  in  reality.  Hence- 
forth he  was  able  to  take  up  his  pen  with  the  conviction  "that 
mankind  was  a  solid  reality,  and  that  he  himself  was  not  a 
dream." 

After  two  years  of  laborious  and  faithful  service,  during 
which  his  literary  work  was  suspended,  a  change  of  adminis- 
tration resulted  in  his  being  turned  out  of  office.  He  engaged 
in  the  socialistic  experiment  of  Brook  Farm  ;  and,  as  we  learn 
from  his  letters,  he  entered  upon  his  new  duties  with  consider- 
able enthusiasm.  He  chopped  hay  with  such  "  righteous  vehe- 
mence "  that  he  broke  the  machine  in  ten  minutes.  Armed 


1 86  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

with  a  pitchfork  he  made  what  seemed  to  him  a  gallant  attack 
upon  a  heap  of  manure.  He  turned  grindstones  and  milked 
cows  ;  hoed  potatoes  and  picked  apples  ;  made  hay  anugauv'^T 
ered  squashes  ;  and  then  for  supper  devoured  huge  mounds  of 
buckwheat  cakes.  But  at  last  his  sense  of  humor,  which  kept 
him  for  a  time  from  taking  life  at  Brook  Farm  too  seriously, 
began  to  fail  him.  His  tasks  became  intensely  prosaic  ;  and 
finally  he  fell  into  the  carnal  state  that  made  him  welcome  the 
idleness  of  a  rainy  day,  or  kept  him  on  the  sick-list  longer  than 
the  necessities  of  the  case  actually  required. 

At  Brook  Farm,  as  elsewhere,  Hawthorne  not  only  made 
"  a  prey  of  people's  individualities,"  to  use  his  own  phrase, 
but  he  observed  nature  also  with  microscopic  vision.  Accord- 
ing to  his  custom,  which  he  kept  up  through  life,  he  stored  his 
note-books  with  interesting  observations  and  reflections.  A 
few  years  later  he  etherealized  his  Brook  Farm  experience  into 
the  "  Blithedale  Romance,"  which  ranks  as  one  of  his  best 
productions.  It  was  published  in  1852.  Though  he  protests 
in  the  preface  against  a  too  literal  understanding  of  his  ro- 
mance, Margaret  Fuller  is  thought  to  have  furnished  some 
traits  of  Zenobia ;  and  it  is  impossible  not  to  associate  Haw- 
thorne himself  with  Miles  Coverdale.  The  following  extract, 
which  sets  forth  the  cruel  disillusion  of  the  Brook  Farm  vision- 
aries, is  not  fiction  :  "  While  our  enterprise  lay  all  in  theory, 
we  had  pleased  ourselves  with  delectable  visions  of  the  spirit- 
ualization  of  labor.  It  was  to  be  our  form  of  prayer  and  cere- 
monial of  worship.  Each  stroke  of  the  hoe  was  to  uncover 
some  aromatic  root  of  wisdom,  heretofore  hidden  from  the  sun. 
Pausing  in  the  field  to  let  the  wind  exhale  the  moisture  from 
our  foreheads,  we  were  to  look  upward,  and  catch  glimpses 
into  the  far-off  soul  of  truth.  In  this  point  of  view,  matters 
did  not  turn  out  quite  so  well  as  we  anticipated.  .  .  .  The 
clods  of  earth,  which  we  so  constantly  belabored  and  turned 
over,  were  never  etherealized  into  thought.  Our  thoughts,  on 
the  contrary,  were  fast  becoming  cloddish.  Our  labor  symbol- 
ized nothing,  and  left  us  mentally  sluggish  in  the  dusk  of  the 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  1 87 

evening.  Intellectual  activity  is  incompatible  with  any  large 
amount  of  bodily  exercise." 

Hawthorne  remained  at  Brook  Farm  not  quite  a  year.  He 
returned  to  Boston,  where  he  married  Miss  Sophia  Peabody  in 
1842.  The  union  was  a  peculiarly  happy  one.  Mrs.  Haw- 
thorne was  a  gifted  and  amiable  woman,  who  appreciated  her 
husband's  genius  ;  and  throughout  their  wedded  career,  which 
seems  to  have  been  unmarred  by  a  single  misunderstanding, 
she  stood  at  his  side  as  a  wise  counsellor,  sympathetic  friend, 
and  helpful  companion.  Their  correspondence,  not  only  during 
the  days  of  courtship,  but  also  during  the  whole  course  of  their 
wedded  life,  constantly  breathes  a  spirit  of  delicate,  tender, 
reverent  love. 

The  newly  wedded  pair  at  once  took  up  their  residence  in 
the  Old  Manse  at  Concord,  where  they  numbered  among  their 
friends  Emerson,  Ellery  Channing,  and  Thoreau.  Hawthorne 
had  not  waited  for  wealth  before  marrying.  It  sometimes  be- 
came a  serious  problem  to  satisfy  the  grocer  and  the  butcher. 
But  in  spite  of  the  cares  growing  out  of  their  humble  circum- 
stances, the  happy  pair  maintained  a  cheerful  courage.  "  The 
other  day,"  wrote  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  "  when  my  husband  saw 
me  contemplating  an  appalling  vacuum  in  his  dressing-gown, 
he  said  he  was  '  a  man  of  the  largest  rents  in  the  country,  and 
it  was  strange  he  had  not  more  ready  money.'  Our  rents  are 
certainly  not  to  be  computed  ;  for  everything  seems  now  to  be 
wearing  out  all  at  once.  .  .  .  But,  somehow  or  other,  I  do 
not  care  much,  because  we  are  so  happy.  We  — 

'  Sail  away 
Into  the  regions  of  exceeding  day,' 

and  the  shell  of  life  is  not  of  much  consequence." 

In  the  introductory  chapter  to  the  "  Mosses  from  an  Old 
Manse,"  a  delightful  book  made  up  of  stories  written"  for  the 
most  part  at  this  period,  Hawthorne  gives  us  a  minute  descrip- 
tion of  his  new  home.  The  Old  Manse  had  never  been  "  pro- 
faned by  a  lay  occupant,"  he  says,  "until  that  memorable 


1 88  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

summer  afternoon  when  I  entered  it  as  my  home.  A  priest 
had  built  it,  a  priest  had  succeeded  to  it ;  other  priestly  men 
from  time  to  time  had  dwelt  in  it,  and  children  born  in  its 
chambers  had  grown  up  to  assume  the  priestly  character.  It 
was  awful  to  reflect  how  many  sermons  must  have  been  written 
there.  .  .  .  There  was  in  the  rear  of  the  house  the  most  de- 
lightful little  nook  of  a  study  that  ever  offered  its  snug  seclu- 
sion to  a  scholar.  It  was  here  that  Emerson  wrote  '  Nature ; ' 
for  he  was  then  an  inhabitant  of  the  Manse,  and  used  to  watch 
the  Assyrian  dawn  and  the  Paphian  sunset  and  moonrise  from 
the  summit  of  our  eastern  hill.  When  I  first  saw  the  room,  its 
walls  were  blackened  with  the  smoke  of  unnumbered  years, 
and  made  still  blacker  by  the  grim  prints  of  Puritan  ministers 
that  hung  around.  These  worthies  looked  strangely  like  bad 
angels  —  or,  at  least,  like  men  who  had  wrestled  so  continually. 
and  so  sternly  with  the  devil  that  somewhat  of  his  sooty  fierce- 
ness had  been  imparted  to  their  own  visages." 

Hawthorne  lived  at  Concord  four  years,  a  period  of  ripened 
manhood  and  deepened  character.  He  was  then  appointed 
surveyor  in  the  Custom-house  at  Salem,  where  he  went  to  live 
in  1846.  He  was  not  very  partial  to  his  native  town  ;  and  in 
one  of  his  letters  of  an  earlier  date  he  gives  humorous  expres- 
sion to  his  dislike  :  "  Methinks,  all  enormous  sinners  should 
be  sent  on  pilgrimage  to  Salem,  and  compelled  to  spend  a 
length  of  time  there,  proportioned  to  the  enormity  of  their 
offences.  Such  punishment  would  be  suited  to  crimes  that  do 
not  quite  deserve  hanging,  yet  are  too  aggravated  for  the 
State's  prison."  He  discharged  the  duties  of  his  office  with 
exemplary  fidelity.  He  did  but  little  literary  work  ;  but  he 
was  not  so  entirely  absorbed  in  his  prosaic  duties  as  not  to 
make  his  customary  but  silent  and  unsuspected  observations 
upon  the  characters  of  those  about  him. 

In  the  introduction  to  "  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  which  was 
published  in  1850,  he  gives  an  account  of  his  custom-house 
experiences,  and  furnishes  us  a  delightful  series  of  portraits  of 
his  subordinates.  Take,  for  example,  a  single  trait  in  the  char- 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  189 

acter  of  the  patriarch  of  the  custom-house :  "  His  gormandism 
was  a  highly  agreeable  trait ;  and  to  hear  him  talk  of  roast 
meat  was  as  appetizing  as  a  pickle  or  an  oyster.  As  he  pos- 
sessed no  higher  attribute,  and  neither  sacrificed  nor  vitiated 
any  spiritual  endowment  by  devoting  all  his  energies  and  in- 
genuities to  subserve  the  delight  and  profit  of  his  maw,  it 
always  pleased  and  satisfied  me  to  hear  him  expatiate  on  fish, 
poultry,  and  butcher's  meat,  and  the  most  eligible  methods  of 
preparing  them  for  the  table.  His  reminiscences  of  good 
cheer,  however  ancient  the  date  of  the  actual  banquet,  seemed 
to  bring  the  savor  of  pig  or  turkey  under  one's  very  nostrils. 
There  were  flavors  on  his  palate  that  had  lingered  there  not 
less  than  sixty  or  seventy  years,  and  were  still  apparently  as 
fresh  as  the  mutton-chop  which  he  had  just  devoured  for  his 
'breakfast.  I  have  heard  him  smack  his  lips  over  dinners, 
every  guest  at  which,  except  himself,  had  long  been  food  for 
worms.  .  .  .  The  chief  tragic  event  of  the  old  man's  life,  so 
far  as  I  could  judge,  was  his  mishap  with  a  certain  goose 
which  lived  and  died  some  twenty  or  forty  years  ago ;  a  goose 
of  most  promising  figure,  but  which  at  table  proved  so  invete- 
rately  tough  that  the  carving-knife  would  make  no  impression 
on  its  carcass,  and  it  could  only  be  divided  with  an  axe  and 
handsaw." 

After  three  years  a  change  of  administration  again  led  to 
Hawthorne's  retirement.  "  Now  you  will  have  leisure  to  write 
your  book,"  cheerfully  exclaimed  his  wife,  when  he  told  her  of 
his  removal.  When  he  asked  what  they  would  live  on  mean- 
while, she  led  him  to  a  desk,  and  proudly  pointed  to  a  heap 
of  gold  that  she  had  saved  out  of  her  weekly  allowance  for 
household  expenses.  He  set  to  work  at  once  upon  "  The 
Scarlet  Letter,"  perhaps  the  best  known  of  his  writings,  and 
the  most  subtile  and  powerful  piece  of  fiction  produced  in  this 
country.  It  is  a  tragedy  of  sin  and  remorse,  in  which  thoughts 
are  acts.  Its  extraordinary  merits  were  at  once  recognized, 
and  at  a  single  bound  Hawthorne  attained  the  literary  emi- 
nence that  his  genius  deserved.  Ills  day  of  obscurity  was 


19°  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

past;  the  praises  of  "The  Scarlet  Letter "  in  America  were 
re-echoed  in  England.  This  enthusiastic  reception  of  his  work, 
which  his  frequent  disappointments  had  not  prepared  him  for, 
brought  him  satisfaction  and  encouragement.  It  seems  to  have 
acted  upon  him  as  a  stimulus  to  renewed  effort ;  and  the  years 
immediately  following  were  the  most  productive  of  his  life. 
Even  the  greatest  genius  needs  the  encouragement  of  appre- 
ciation. 

In  1850,  the  year  in  which  "  The  Scarlet  Letter"  appeared, 
Hawthorne  moved  to  Lenox  in  western  Massachusetts.  He 
occupied  a  small  red  cottage,  which,  but  for  its  commanding 
view  of  mountain,  lake,  and  valley,  could  not  have  been  con- 
sidered in  keeping  with  his  gifts  and  fame.  His  limited  means 
still  enforced  simplicity  of  living.  Here  he  wrote  "  The  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables,"  one  of  his  four  great  romances,  which 
was  published  in  1851.  It  was  written,  as  were  most  of  his 
works,  to  set  forth  a  spiritual  truth.  The  story  was  never  with 
Hawthorne  the  principal  thing.  It  was  simply  the  skeleton, 
which  he  clothed  with  the  flesh  of  thought  and  vitalized  with 
the  breath  of  truth.  "  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  "  illus- 
trates the  great  truth  "  that  the  wrong-doing  of  one  generation 
lives  into  the  succeeding  ones,  and,  divesting  itself  of  every 
temporary  advantage,  becomes  a  pure  and  uncontrollable  mis- 
chief." 

While  at  Lenox,  Hawthorne  wrote  also  his  "Wonder- Book" 
for  boys  and  girls,  a  beautifully  modernized  version  of  ancient 
classic  myths.  Though  intended  for  children,  it  is  not  with- 
out interest  for  older  people.  With  his  growing  popularity  his 
financial  condition  improved ;  and  in  1852  he  purchased  a 
house  at  Concord,  formerly  owned  by  Alcott,  to  which  he  gave 
the  name  of  the  Wayside.  Here  he  took  up  his  abode,  and 
completed  his  "Tanglewood  Tales,"  another  admirable  volume 
intended  for  young  people.  Upon  the  nomination  of  his  friend 
Franklin  Pierce  for  the  presidency,  he  consented,  not  without 
urgent  solicitation,  to  prepare  a  campaign  biography.  It  is 
characterized  by  good  taste  and  sobriety  of  judgment.  After 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  IQI 

the  election  of  Pierce,  he  received  the  appointment  of  consul 
to  Liverpool,  and  sailed  for  Europe  in  1853. 

This  opportunity  to  spend  some  time  abroad  came  to  the 
Hawthornes  as  the  realization  of  a  long-cherished  dream.  Few 
Americans  have  been  better  fitted  in  culture  to  appreciate  and 
enjoy  the  society,  historic  associations,  and  art  treasures  of  the 
Old  World.  Though  Hawthorne  discharged  the  duties  of  his 
position  with  conscientious  fidelity,  its  emoluments,  which  were 
considerable,  constituted  its  principal  charm.  "I  disliked  my 
office  from  the  first,"  he  says,  "  and  never  came  into  any  good 
accordance  with  it  Its  dignity,  so  far  as  it  had  any,  was  an 
encumbrance;  the  attentions  it  drew  upon  me  (such  as  invita- 
tions to  mayors'  banquets  and  public  celebrations  of  all  kinds, 
where,  to  my  horror,  I  found  myself  expected  to  stand  up  and 
speak)  were  —  as  I  may  say  without  incivility  or  ingratitude, 
because  there  is  nothing  personal  in  that  sort  of  hospitality  — 
a  bore.  The  official  business  was  irksome,  and  often  painful. 
There  was  nothing  pleasant  about  the  whole  affair,  except  the 
emoluments." 

As  at  Salem,  Hawthorne  kept  his  eyes  open  to  his  sur- 
roundings, and  filled  his  note-books  with  many  charming  inci- 
dents and  descriptions.  At  intervals  he  made  brief  excursions 
to  the  most  noted  parts  of  England.  His  literary  fame  caused 
him  to  be  much  sought  after,  and  he  saw  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  the  time.  Like  Irving,  he  entertained  a  friendly  feel- 
ing toward  the  mother-country,  which  he  fondly  calls,  in  a  work 
recording  his  experience  and  impressions,  "Our  Old  Home." 
But  he  had  no  disposition,  as  he  said,  to  besmear  our  self- 
conscious  English  cousins  with  butter  and  honey.  "  These 
people,"  he  says,  "  think  so  loftily  of  themselves,  and  so  con- 
temptuously of  everybody  else,  that  it  requires  more  generosity 
than  I  possess  to  keep  always  in  perfectly  good  humor  with 
them." 

After  five  years  Hawthorne  resigned  the  consulate  at  Liver- 
pool, and  then  devoted  two  years  to  travel,  chiefly  in  France 
and  Italy.  It  was  a  period  of  rest,  observation,  and  reflection. 


IQ2  A  Af ERIC  AN  LITERATURE. 

The  art  treasures  of  Rome,  as  well  as  its  historic  associations, 
were  a  source  of  exquisite  pleasure.  His  Italian  impressions 
he  embodied  in  the  last  of  his  great  romances,  "  The  Marble 
Faun."  It  was  sketched  out  in  Italy,  rewritten  in  England, 
and  published  in  1860.  It  abounds  in  art  criticism  and  de- 
scriptions of  Italian  scenery.  But  through  it  all  there  runs  a 
deathless  story,  with  the  profound  moral  that  a  perfect  culture 
is  unattainable  in  a  state  of  innocence,  and  that  the  noblest 
character  can  be  developed  only  through  spiritual  conflict. 

Hawthorne  had  a  deep  sense  of  human  sin  and  guilt.  It 
enters  into  many  of  his  writings,  and  tinges  them  with  a  sombre 
hue.  His  works  appeal  most  to  those  who  have  been  chastened 
in  toil  and  suffering.  He  everywhere  breathes  a  spirit  of  ten- 
der sympathy,  from  which  no  one,  however  erring  and  fallen, 
is  excluded.  "  Man,"  he  says,  "  must  not  disclaim  his  brother- 
hood even  with  the  guiltiest,  since,  though  his  hand  be  clean, 
his  heart  has  surely  been  polluted  by  the  flitting  phantoms  of 
iniquity."  In  the  conflicts  and  sufferings  of  humanity  he  rec- 
ognized the  struggle  of  the  race  after  a  better  and  purer  life 
than  has  yet  been  realized  on  earth. 

The  year  "  The  Marble  Faun "  appeared,  Hawthorne  re- 
turned to  his  native  country,  and  made  his  home  once  more 
at  the  Wayside.  But  the  fire  of  genius  was  burning  low.  He 
no  longer  enjoyed  robust  health;  and,  while  the  country  was 
engaged  in  the  throes  of  civil  war,  he  found  it  impossible  to 
give  himself  to  the  calm,  secluded  task  of  inventing  stories. 
No  other  great  work  came  from  his  magic  pen.  He  indeed 
essayed  other  achievements  ;  but  "  Septimius  Felton  "  was  never 
finished,  and  "  The  Dolliver  Romance  "  remained  a  fragment. 
His  health  gradually  declined.  At  last,  in  the  faint  hope  of 
improvement,  he  started  with  his  lifelong  friend  Pierce  on  a 
journey  through  northern  New  England.  But  the  sudden  death 
that  he  had  desired  came  to  him  at  Plymouth,  N.H.,  May  19, 
1864.  A  few  days  later  he  was  laid  to  rest  with  Thoreau  in 
the  cemetery  at  Concord. 

This  survey  of  Hawthorne's  life  and  work  enables  us  to 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE.  193 

distinguish  some  of  the  elements  that  entered  into  his  unique 
character.  His  piercing  vision  gave  him  a  deep  sense  of  spirit- 
ual reality.  Like  every  finely  organized  nature,  he  was  pro- 
foundly reverent.  In  the  seclusion  of  his  chamber  and  on  his 
lonely  rambles  he  felt  what  he  calls  "  the  spirit's  natural  in- 
stinct of  adoration  towards  a  beneficent  Father."  This  was  the 
secret  of  his  independence  and  of  his  loyalty  to  truth.  His 
ideals  were  lofty,  and  any  departure  from  the  strictest  integrity 
of  thought  or  act  appeared  to  him  in  the  light  of  treason. 
With  his  eye  constantly  fixed  on  the  realities  of  life,  he  de- 
manded everywhere  the  most  perfect  sincerity.  Few  men  have 
ever  had  a  more  cordial  contempt  for  every  form  of  pretence 
and  hypocrisy.  He  was  a  keen  reader  of  character,  and  only 
true  and  honest  natures  were  admitted  to  the  sacred  intimacy 
of  his  friendship.  His  tastes  were  almost  feminine  in  their 
delicacy.  He  had  an  exquisite  appreciation  of  the  beauties 
of  nature  and  art.  He  caught  their  secret  meaning.  Retiring 
and  modest  in  disposition,  he  loathed  the  vulgarity  of  every 
form  of  obtrusiveness.  He  was  peculiarly  gentle  in  manner 
and  in  spirit ;  but  it  was  that  noble  gentleness  born,  not  of 
weakness,  but  of  conscious  power.  His  reflective  temperament 
had  a  predilection  for  the  darker  and  more  mysterious  side  of 
life.  He  fathomed  the  lowest  depths  of  the  soul.  As  we  read 
his  romances  and  tales,  we  have  a  new  sense  of  the  meaning 
and  mystery  of  existence. 


194  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

LONGFELLOW  has  gained  an  enviable  place  in  the  affections 
of  the  American  people  ;  and  in  England  his  works,  it  is  said, 
have  a  wider  circulation  than  those  of  Tennyson.  This  popu- 
I  larity  has  not  been  attained  by  brilliancy  of  genius.  There 
have  been  more  exquisitely  gifted  poets,  who  by  no  means 
have  held  so  large  a  place  in  public  esteem.  The  highest  ge- 
nius is  perhaps  excluded  from  popularity  by  its  very  originality. 
Longfellow,  while  possessing  poetic  gifts  of  a  high  order,  has 
treated  themes  of  general  interest.  He  has  wrought  within  the 
range  of  ordinary  thought  and  sentiment. 

". '-  His  life  was  beautiful  in  its  calm,  gradual,  healthful  devel- 
opment. It  was  not  unlike  the  river  Charles,  of  which  he 
sang  :  — 

"  Oft  in  sadness  and  in  illness, 

I  have  watched  thy  current  glide, 
Till  the  beauty  of  its  stillness 
Overflowed  me  like  a  tide. 

And  in  bitter  hours  and  brighter, 

When  I  saw  thy  waters  gleam, 
I  have  felt  my  heart  beat  lighter, 

And  leap  onward  with  thy  stream." 

His  life  was  itself  a  poem  —  a  type  of  all  that  he  has  writ- 
ten. ffXwas  full  of  gentleness,  courtesy,  sincerity,  and  manly 
beauty.  It  was  free  from  eccentricity;  it  breathed  a  large  sym- 
pathy; it  grounded  itself  on  invisible  and  eternal  realities. 
The  message  he  brought  was  sane  and  helpful.  He  did  not 
aim  at  the  solution  of  great  problems  ;  he  was  not  ambitious 
to  fathom  the  lowest  depths.  But  for  half  a  century  he  contin- 


HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW. 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  195 

ued  to  send  forth,  in  simple,  harmonious  verse,  messages  of 
beauty,  sympathy,  and  hope. 

?  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  was  born  in  Portland,  Me., 
Feb.  27,  1807.  He  sprang  from  a  sturdy,  honorable  New 
England  family,  the  founder  of  which  came  to  Massachusetts 
toward  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century.  His  father  was 
a  graduate  of  Harvard,  a  prominent  lawyer  in  Portland,  and 
at  one  time  a  member  of  Congress.  The  poet  inherited  the 
disposition  and  manners  of  his  father,  who  has  been  described 
as  a  man  "  free  from  everything  offensive  to  good  taste  or  good 
feeling."  On  his  mother's  side  the  poet  counted  in  his  ances- 
tral line  John  Alden  and  Priscilla  Mullen,  whom  he  has  immor- 
.  talized  in  "The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish."  While  his 
j  ancestors  on  both  sides  were  characterized  by  strong  sense 
and  sterling  integrity,  there  was  no  indication  of  latent  poetic 
genius.  Its  sudden  appearance  in  the  subject  of  our  sketch 
is  one  of  those  miracles  of  nature  that  cannot  be  fully  ex- 
plained by  any  law  of  heredity. 

During  the  early  years  of  his  life,  Portland  possessed  the 
charm  of  beautiful  scenery  and  stirring  incident.  The  city 
rises  by  gentle  ascent  from  Casco  Bay.  Its  principal  streets 
are  lined  with  trees,  so  that  it  has  been  not  inaptly  called  "The 
Forest  City."  Back  of  the  town  are  the  stately  trees  of  Deer- 
ing's  Woods.  It  was  a  place  of  considerable  commercial  im- 
portance, and  foreign  vessels  and  strange-tongued  sailors  were 
seen  at  its  wharves.  In  the  War  of  1812  defensive  works  were 
erected  on  the  shore.  In  a  naval  combat  off  the  coast  between 
the  British  brig  Boxer  and  the  United  States  brig  Enterprise, 
the  captains  of  both  vessels  lost  their  lives.  The  deep  impres- 
sion made  by  these  scenes  and  associations  is  reflected  in  the 
beautiful  poem,  "  My  Lost  Youth." 

Longfellow  entered  Bowdoin  College  at  the  age  of  fifteen. 
He  was  courteous  in  his  bearing,  refined  in  his  tastes,  and  stu- 
dious in  his  habits.  A  classmate,  writing  of  him  a  half-century 
later,  says,  "  He  was  an  agreeable  companion,  kindly  and 
social  in  his  manner,  rendering  himself  dear  to  his  associates 


IQO  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

by  his  disposition  and  deportment."  He  held  a  very  high 
rank  in  a  large  and  able  class.  His  strong  literary  bent  mani- 
fested itself  early.  During  his  college  course  he  composed  a 
number  of  poems  of  marked  excellence,  a  few  of  which  have 
been  given  a  place  in  his  "Complete  Poetical  Works."  All 
young  writers  are  apt  to  be  more  or  less  imitative;  and  in  the 
poems  of  this  period,  especially  in  those  treating  of  nature,  the 
influence  of  Bryant  is  clearly  perceptible. 

He  early  showed  a  strong  predilection  for  a  literary  career. 
In  his  eighteenth  year  he  wrote  to  his  father  :  "  The  fact  is, 
I  most  eagerly  aspire  after  future  eminence  in  literature  ;  my 
whole  soul  burns  most  ardently  for  it.  There  may  be  some- 
thing visionary  in  this,  but  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  pru- 
dence enough  to  keep  my  enthusiasm  from  defeating  its  own 
object  by  too  great  haste.  .  .  .  Whether  nature  has  given  me 
any  capacity  for  knowledge  or  not,  she  has,  at  any  rate,  given 
me  a  very  strong  predilection  for  literary  pursuits  ;  and  I  am 
almost  confident  in  believing  that,  if  I  can  ever  rise  in  the 
world,  it  must  be  by  the  exercise  of  my  talent  in  the  wide  field 
of  literature." 

After  his  graduation  in  1825,  Longfellow  began  the  study 
of  law  in  his  father's  office  ;  but,  like  several  other  American 
authors,  he  found  his  legal  books  exceedingly  tedious.  Soon 
the  way  was  opened  for  him  to  enter  upon  the  literary  career 
for  which  he  was  eminently  fitted  by  taste  and  talents.  While 
at  college  his  linguistic  ability  had  attracted  attention.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  the  department  of  modern  languages  was 
established  at  Bowdoin,  he  was  elected  professor,  and  granted 
leave  of  absence  for  travel  and  study  abroad.  He  sailed  for 
Europe  in  1826,  and  spent  the  next  three  years  in  France,  Ger- 
many, Italy,  Spain,  Holland,  and  England.  He  studiously 
familiarized  himself  with  the  scenery,  customs,  language,  and 
literature  of  those  countries.  Like  Paul  .Flemming  in  "  Hy- 
perion," "  He  worked  his  way  diligently  through  the  ancient 
poetic  lore  of  Germany,  from  Frankish  legends  of  St.  George 
and  Saxon  Rhyme-Chronicles,  .  .  .  into  the  bright,  sunny  land 


HENRY   WADSIVORTH  LONGFELLOW.  197 

of  harvests,  where,  amid  the  golden  grain  and  the  blue  corn- 
flowers, walk  the  modern  bards,  and  sing."  After  his  return, 
he  taught  five  years  in  his  Alma  Mater  with  eminent  success. 

One  of  the  fruits  of  his  stay  abroad  was  a  little  work  in 
prose  entitled  "  Outre  Mer,"  in  which  he  gave  some  of  the 
"  scenes  and  musings  "  of  his  pilgrimage.  It  is  made  up  of  a 
scries  of  pleasant  sketches  in  the  manner  of  Irving's  "  Sketch 
Book."  It  was  written,  as  he  tells  us,  when  the  duties  of  the 
day  were  over,  and  the  world  around  him  was  hushed  in  sleep. 
"  And  as  I  write,"  he  concludes,  "  the  melancholy  thought 
intrudes  upon  me,  —  To  what  end  is  all  this  toil  ?  Of  what 
avail  these  midnight  vigils  ?  Dost  thou  covet  fame  ?  Vain 
dreamer  !  A  few  brief  days,  —  and  what  will  the  busy  world 
know  of  thee  ?  Alas  !  this  little  book  is  but  a  bubble  on  the 
stream ;  and,  although  it  may  catch  the  sunshine  for  a  moment, 
yet  it  will  soon  float  down  the  swift-rushing  current,  and  be 
seen  no  more  !  " 

In  1831  he  married  Miss  Mary  Storer  Potter  of  Portland, 
a  lady  of  great  personal  attractions  and  of  exceptional  culture. 
Their  married  life  was  brief.  She  accompanied  him  on  his 
second  visit  to  Europe,  where  she  died  in  Rotterdam  in  No- 
vember, 1835.  She  is  the  "  being  beauteous  "  commemorated 
in  the  "  Footsteps  of  Angels  :  "  — 

"  With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 

Comes  the  messenger  divine, 
Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 
Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 

Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 

Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 
Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 

Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air." 


198  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Longfellow's  reputation  as  a  teacher  and  writer  was  not 
confined  to  Brunswick.  He  was  generally  recognized  as  a 
rising  man  ;  and  hence,  when  the  chair  of  modern  languages 
and  literature  became  vacant  at  Harvard  by  the  resignation  of 
Professor  George  Ticknor,  he  was  called  to  Cambridge.  But 
before  entering  upon  his  duties  there,  he  again  went  abroad, 
and  spent  two  years  in  study.  In  "  Hyperion,"  his  second 
prose  work,  he  gave  a  poetic  diary  of  his  wanderings  abroad. 
Its  style  is  somewhat  dainty  and  artificial,  but  in  excellent 
keeping  with  its  quaint  scholarship.  It  repeats  old  legends, 
translates  delightful  lyrics,  indulges  in  easy  criticism,  abounds 
in  graphic  descriptions,  and  admirably  reproduces  the  spirit  of 
German  life.  Now  and  then  a  serious  reflection  affords  us  a 
glimpse  into  the  depths  of  thought  and  feeling  beneath  the 
facile  narrative.  The  book  is  still  eagerly  bought,  we  are  told, 
at  the  principal  points  it  commemorates. 

In  1836  Longfellow  returned  to  this  country,  and  took  up 
his  residence  in  the  Craigie  house  in  Cambridge.  Though  it 
already  possessed  historic  interest  as  at  one  time  Washington's 
headquarters,  it  was  destined  to  become  still  more  illustrious 
as  the  home  of  the  poet.  The  beauty  of  its  surroundings  ren- 
dered it  no  unfit  abode  for  the  Muses.  With  reference  to  its 
former  majestic  occupant,  the  poet  says:  — 

"  Once,  ah,  once  within  these  walls, 
One  whom  memory  oft  recalls, 
The  Father  of  his  Country,  dwelt. 
And  yonder  meadows  broad  and  damp 
The  fires  of  the  besieging  camp 
Encircled  with  a  burning  belt." 

For  seventeen  years  he  faithfully  discharged  his  duties  as 
head  of  the  department  of  modern  languages  at  Harvard.  His 
position  was  not  a  sinecure.  Though  his  lectures  were  pre- 
pared with  great  care,  they  were  seldom  written  out  in  full. 
He  cared  but  little  for  the  soulless,  mechanical  learning  that 
consists  in  a  knowledge  of  insignificant  details.  He  wrought 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  199 

with  profounder  spirit.  He  introduced  his  students  into  the 
beauty  of  foreign  literature,  and  awakened  a  desire  for  literary 
study  and  culture. 

He  became  a  prominent  figure  in  the  remarkable  group  of 
Cambridge  scholars  and  writers.  His  friendships  were  select 
and  warm.  His  relations  with  Felton,  Hawthorne,  and  Sum- 
ner  were  particularly  close,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  series  of  son- 
nets entitled  "Three  Friends  of  Mine."  There  is  deep  pathos 
in  the  concluding  lines  :  — 

"  But  they  will  come  no  more, 
Those  friends  of  mine,  whose  presence  satisfied 
The  thirst  and  hunger  of  my  heart.     Ah  me ! 
They  have  forgotten  the  pathway  to  my  door ! 
Something  is  gone  from  nature  since  they  died, 
And  summer  is  not  summer,  nor  can  be." 

Among  his  other  intimate  friends  may  be  mentioned  Lowell 
and  Agassiz,  both  of  whom  find  affectionate  remembrance  in 
his  poems. 

In  1839,  the  year  in  which  "Hyperion"  appeared,  Long- 
fellow published  a  slender  volume  of  poetry  entitled  "  Voices 
of  the  Night."  For  the  first  time  the  public  was  able  to  form 
a  fair  idea  of  the  qualities  of  the  new  singer.  The  key-note  of 
the  poems  is  given  in  the  "  Prelude  :  "  — 

"  Look,  then,  into  thine  heart,  and  write  1 

Yes,  into  Life's  deep  stream ! 

All  forms  of  sorrow  and  delight, 

All  solemn  Voices  of  the  Night, 

That  can  soothe  thee,  or  affright, 

Be  these  henceforth  thy  theme." 

The  poet  striick  a  sympathetic  chord,  and  several  of  the 
poems  have  since  remained  popular  favorites.  Every  poem  in 
the  collection  has  a  personal  interest.  "A  Psalm  of  Life," 
so  familiar  for  two  generations,  is  the  voice  of  courage  that 
came  into  the  poet's  heart  as  he  was  rallying  from  the  depres- 
sion of  bereavement.  "The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers,"  which 


200  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

was  the  unlabored  expression  of  a  long-cherished  idea,  he  wrote, 

ias  he  tells  us,  "  with  peace  in  his  heart,  and  not  without  tears 
in  his  eyes."  The  pathetic  interest  of  '"  Footsteps  of  Angels  " 
has  already  been  mentioned. 

Two  years  later  appeared  another  small  volume  with  the 
title,  "  Ballads  and  Other  Poems."  It  reveals  an  expansion  of 
the  poet's  powers.  / "  The  Skeleton  in  Armor  "  rests  upon  an 
interesting  historical  basis.  «  "  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus  " 
is  written  in  the  old  ballad  style,  the  spirit  of  which  it  success- 
fully reproduces.  After  the  wreck,  for  example,  — 

"At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 
Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise." 

In  "  The  Village  Blacksmith,"  we  catch  the  beauty  and 
excellence  of  a  life  of  humble,  faithful  labor  — 

"  Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing, 

Onward  through  life  he  goes; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

.Each  evening  sees  it  close; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose." 

The  little  poem,  "  Excelsior,"  has  a  deeper  meaning  than 
appears  on  the  surface.  The  poet's  intention,  as  explained  by 
himself,  was  "  to  display,  in  a  series  of  pictures,  the  life  of  a 
man  of  genius,  resisting  all  temptations,  laying  aside  all  fears, 
heedless  of  all  warnings,  and  pressing  right  'on  to  accomplish 
his  purpose." 

In  these  two  initial  volumes  we  have  the  fundamental  char- 
acteristics of  Longfellow's  verse.  His  poetry  afterwards  swept 
a  wide  range;  he  undertook  more  ambitious  themes,  and  gained 
in  amplitude  of  genius.  But  in  its  essential  features,  his  po- 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  2OI 

etry  always  retained  the  same  qualities.  His  verse  is  simple, 
smooth,  melodious,  serious.  He  had  learned  from  German 
lyrists  —  Heine,  Miiller,  Uhland  —  the  effectiveness  of  simple 
measures ;  and  no  other  poetic  forms  would  have  been  suited 
to  his  range  of  thought  and  emotion.  His  poetry  was  but  the 
reflex  of  the  man  himself.  To  use  the  words  of  Curtis,  "  What 
he  was  to  the  stranger  reading  in  distant  lands,  by  — 

'  The  long  wash  of  Australasian  seas,' 

that  he  was  to  the  most  intimate  of  his  friends.  His  life  and 
character  were  perfectly  reflected  in  his  books.  There  is  no 
purity,  or  grace,  or  feeling,  or  spotless  charm  in  his  verse  which 
did  not  belong  to  the  man." 

In  Europe  he  steeped  himself  in  mediaeval  literature.  He 
familiarized  himself  with  its  wonderful  legends.  He  breathed 
the  romantic  spirit  that  had  recently  brought  new  life  into  the 
literature  of  Germany,  France,  and  England.  Discarding  con- 
ventionality, he  strove  to  be  true  to  nature.  With  true  poetic 
discernment,  he  pointed,  out  the  beauty  and  pathos  of  human 
life.  His  poetry  does  not  display  erratic  brilliancy  ;  it  does 
not  suddenly  blaze  out  in  meteoric  splendor,  and  then  sink  into 
darkness.  It  breathes  an  atmosphere  of  faith,  hope,  and  cour- 
age. Longfellow  does  not  indeed  rise  to  the  rank  of  the  great- 
est masters  of  song.  But  whatever  he  has  lost  in  admiration, 
he  has  more  than  gained  in  the  higher  tribute  of  love. 

The  year  1843  is  notable  in  the  poet's  life  for  three  things. 
/s  The  first  was  the  publication  of  "  The  Spanish  Student,"  a 
pleasant  drama  intended  for  reading  rather  than  acting.  Its 
characters  are  drawn  with  sufficient  clearness  ;  and  Preciosa, 
the  gypsy  dancing-girl,  is  a  charming  creation.  The  play  ex- 
hibits the  poet's  intimate  knowledge  of  Spanish  character  and 
customs,  and  is  full  of  interesting  incident  and  passionate 
poetry.  The  second  event  was  the  appearance  of  his  small 
rollection  of  "Poems  on  Slavery."  He  was  not  an  agitator; 
his  modest,  retiring  nature  unfitted  him  for  the  tasks  of  a  bold, 


202  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

popular  leader.  But,  during  the  agitation  of  the  great  slavery 
question,  he  was  not  an  entirely  passive  spectator.  Through 
his  anti-slavery  poems,  which  set  forth  strongly  the  darker  side 
of  slavery,  he  lent  the  weight  of  his  influence  to  the  friends 
of  emancipation.  In  the  light  of  subsequent  events,  the  last 
stanza  of  "The  Warning"  seems  almost  like  prophecy:  — 

"  There  is  a  poor,  blind  Samson  in  this  land, 

Shorn  of  his  strength  and  bound  in  bonds  of  steel, 
Who  may,  in  some  grim  revel,  raise  his  hand, 
And  shake  the  pillars  of  this  Commonweal, 
Till  the  vast  Temple  of  our  liberties 
A  shapeless  mass  of  wreck  and  rubbish  lies." 

The  third  event  of  the  year  was  the  poet's  marriage  to  Miss 
Frances  Elizabeth  Appleton  "of  Boston,  the  original  of  Mary 
Ashburton  in  "  Hyperion."  She  was  fitted  in  mind  and  person 
to  walk  at  the  poet's  side;  and  years  afterwards,  when  sur- 
rounded by  her  five  children,  she  was  described  as  a  Cornelia 
in  matronly  beauty  and  dignity. 

In  1845  appeared  "  Poets  ancl  Poetry  of  Europe,"  a  large 
volume  containing  nearly  four  hundred  translations  from  ten 
different  languages.  In  its  preparation,  which  occupied  him 
nearly  two  years,  he  had  the  assistance  of  his  friend  Professor 
Felton.  In  December  of  the  same  year  he  published  "  The 
Belfry  of  Bruges,  and  Other  Poems,"  in  which  appears  some 
of  his  best  work.  The  initial  poem  and  *'  Nuremberg"  are  ad- 
mirable "  poems  of  places."  -**  The  Day  is  Done "  has  long 
been  a  general  favorite  ;  and,  excepting  the  unfortunate  simile 
in  the  first  stanza,  it  is  almost  faultless  in  its  simplicity  and 
beauty.  '*  The  Arsenal  at  Springfield  "  deservedly  ranks  among 
the  best  of  his  shorter  poems.  It  is  quite  "warlike  against 
war,"  and  expresses  faith  in  its  ultimate  banishment  from  the 
earth  :  — 

"  Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 

The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter,  and  then  cease; 
And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say  '  Peace.' " 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  2O3 

Among  the  other  poems  of  this  collection  deserving  es- 
pecial notice  is  ^The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs."  The  old- 
fashioned  country-seat  commemorated  in  the  poem  was  the 
homestead  of  Mrs.  Longfellow's  maternal  grandfather,  whither 
the  poet  went  for  a  short  time  after  his  marriage  in  1843. 

Two  years  later  appeared  "  JSvangeline,"  which  Holmes  re- 
gards as  our  author's  masterpiece,  —  a  judgment  sustained  by 
general  opinion.  The  story  Longfellow  owed  to  Hawthorne, 
to  whom  he  gracefully  wrote  after  the  publication  and  success 
of  the  poem  :  "  I  thank  you  for  resigning  to  me  that  legend  of 
Acady.  This  success  I  owe  entirely  to  you,  for  being  willing 
to  forego  the  pleasure  of  writing  a  prose  tale  which  many  peo- 
ple would  have  taken  for  poetry,  that  I  might  write  a  poem 
which  many  people  take  for  prose."  The  metre  is  dactylic 
hexameter,  which  has  had  great  difficulty  in  naturalizing  itself 
in  English  poetry.  Longfellow,  who  had  made  previous  ex- 
periments in  this  measure,  did  not  share  the  common  preju- 
dice against  it.  "  The  English  world,"  he  wrote,  "  is  not  yet 
awake  to  the  beauty  of  that  metre."  He  was,  perhaps,  encour- 
aged by  the  success  of  Goethe  in  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea." 
The  result  has  amply  sustained  the  poet's  judgment.  The 
story  could  hardly  have  been  so  delightful  in  any  other  meas- 
ure. He  has  himself  made  the  test  in  a  single  passage.  In 
the  second  canto  of  Part  Second,  the  singing  of  the  mocking- 
bird is  described  as  follows  :  — 

"  Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  mocking-bird,  wildest  of  singers, 
Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er  the  water, 
Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious  music, 
That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves  seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones,  and  sad ;  then  soaring  to  madness 
Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low  lamentation  ; 
Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them  abroad  in  derision, 
As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through  the  tree-tops 
Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower  on  the  branches." 

In  comparison  with  this,  how  tame  the  following  rendering 
in  the  common  English  rhymed  pentameter  :  — 


204  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

"  Upon  a  spray  that  overhung  the  stream, 
The  mocking-bird,  awaking  from  his  dream, 
Poured  such  delirious  music  from  his  throat 
That  all  the  air  seemed  listening  to  his  note. 
Plaintive  at  first  the  song  began,  and  slow; 
It  breathed  of  sadness,  and  of  pain  and  woe ; 
Then,  gathering  all  his  notes,  abroad  he  flung 
The  multitudinous  music  from  his  tongue,  — 
As,  after  showers,  a  sudden  gust  again 
Upon  the  leaves  shakes  down  the  rattling  rain." 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Longfellow  escaped  criticism. 
His  success  and  popularity  excited  envy,  and  Poe  especially 
was  relentless  in  his  attacks.  He  labored  hard  but  ineffectu- 
ally to  establish  his  favorite  charge  of  plagiarism.  The  trans- 
cendentalists  were  scant  in  their  praise.  Though  Longfellow 
counted  some  of  their  leading  representatives  among  his  friends, 
his  poetry  shows  scarcely  a  trace  of  transcendentalism.  His 
simple  themes  and  familiar  truths  seemed  elementary  and 
trivial  to  the  transcendentalists.  The  editor  of  the  Dial  irrev- 
erently described  him  as  "  a  dandy  Pindar."  But  the  poet  en- 
dured harsh  criticism  with  rare  equanimity.  He  never  replied 
to  any  criticicism,  no  matter  how  unjust  or  severe.  When 
critiques  were  sent  to  him,  he  read  only  those  which  were 
written  in  a  pleasant  spirit.  The  rest  he  dropped  into  the 
fire ;  and  "  in  that  way,"  he  remarked,  "  one  escapes  much 
annoyance." 

After  the  publication  of  "  Evangeline,"  the  poet's  muse  was 
less  productive  for  a  time ;  and  he  himself  lamented  that  the 
golden  days  of  October,  usually  so  fruitful  in  verse,  failed  to 
stir  him  to  song.  Still,  it  was  not  a  period  of  complete  inac- 
tivity. He  amused  himself  in  writing  the  prose  tale  of  "  Kav- 
anagh,"  which,  in  spite  of  Hawthorne's  generous  praise,  has 
remained  the  least  popular  of  his  works.  By  1849  he  accumu- 
lated sufficient  verse  for  a  slender  volume,  which  was  published 
under  the  title  of  "The  Seaside  and  the  Fireside."  Among  the 
sea-pieces,  which  show  the  poet's  fondness  for  the  ocean,  ''The 
Building  of  the  Ship  "  is  most  worthy  of  notice.  It  is  mod- 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  20$ 

elled  after  Schiller's  "  Song  of  the  Bell ;  "  and  in  its  details,  as 
in  its  general  plan,  it  is  admirably  conceived  and  wrought  out. 

"  His  heart  was  in  his  work,  and  the  heart 
Giveth  grace  unto  every  art." 

Among  the  fireside  pieces,  "  Resignation  "  has  been  read 
with  tears  in  many  a  mourning  household.  It  was  written  after 
the  death  of  the  poet's  little  daughter  Fanny,  of  whom  he 
noted  in  his  diary :  "  An  inappeasable  longing  to  see  her  comes 
over  me  at  times,  which  I  can  hardly  control."  He  found  con- 
solation only  in  the  great  truth  of  immortality. 

"  There  is  no  death  !     What  seems  so  is  transition ; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian, 
Whose  portal  we  call  death. 

She  is  not  dead,  —  the  child  of  our  affection,  — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule." 

His  numerous  works  now  brought  the  poet  a  comfortable 
income.  With  increasing  devotion  to  literary  work,  he  found 
the  exacting  duties  of  the  class-room  irksome.  Accordingly, 
in  1854,  he  resigned  his  chair  in  Harvard  College.  He  was 
in  his  intellectual  prime,  and  several  of  his  greatest  works  were 
yet  to  be  written.  About  the  time  of  his  resignation  the  idea 
of  "Hiawatha"  occurred  to  him;  and  he  wrote  in  his  diary: 
"  I  have  at  length  hit  upon  a  plan  for  a  poem  on  the  American 
Indians,  which  seems  to  me  the  right  one  and  the  only.  It  is 
to  weave  together  their  beautiful  traditions  into  a  whole.  I 
have  hit  upon  a  measure  too,  which  I  think  the  right  and  only 
one  for  such  a  theme."  The  peculiar  trochaic  metre,  with  its 
repetitions  and  parallelisms,  was  suggested  by  the  Finnish  epic 
"  Kalevala,"  to  which  also,  in  some  slight  degree,  he  seems 
otherwise  indebted.  The  legends  of  the  poem  were  taken  from 
Schoolcraft.  Longfellow  worked  at  the  poem  with  great  inter- 


206  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

est  and  industry,  and  finished  it  in  nine  months.  But,  as  it 
approached  completion,  he  was  troubled  with  grave  doubts  as 
to  the  success  of  his  novel  venture.  Its  publication  in  1855 
created  something  of  a  literary  sensation.  Never  before,  per- 
haps, was  a  poem  so  criticised,  parodied,  and  ridiculed.  When 
most  fiercely  assailed,  the  poet  preserved  his  usual  equanimity 
and  silence.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Longfellow,"  exclaimed  his  excited 
publisher,  rushing  into  the  poet's  study,  "  these  atrocious  libels 
must  be  stopped."  Longfellow  silently  glanced  over  the  attacks 
in  question.  As  he  handed  the  papers  back,  he  inquired,  "  By 
the  way,  Fields,  how  is  '  Hiawatha  '  selling  ?  "  "  Wonderfully, " 
was  the  reply;  "none  of  your  books  has  ever  had  such  a  sale." 
"  Then,"  said  the  poet  calmly,  "  I  think  we  had  better  let  these 
people  go  on  advertising  it."  The  poem  finally  established 
itself  as  a  general  favorite  — •  a  position  which  it  deserves.  To 
remove  any  doubts,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  read  "  Hiawatha's 
Wooing,"  with  its  familiar  opening  lines:  — 

"  As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is, 
So  unto  the  man  is  woman ; 
Though  she  bends  him,  she  obeys  him; 
Though  she  draws  him,  yet  she  follows ; 
Useless  each  without  the  other." 

At  this  period  the  poet  was  abundant  in  labors.  Scarcely 
was  one  work  off  the  anvil  till  another  was  taken  up.  After 
the  publication  of  "  Hiawatha,"  the  success  of  which  was  en- 
couraging, he  turned  his  attention  to  a  New  England  colonial 
theme.  "  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  "  rests  upon  a 
trustworthy  tradition.  The  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth  were  less 
austere  than  the  Puritans  of  Boston.  Their  sojourn  in  Holland 
had  softened  somewhat  their  temper  and  manners.  The  poem 
reproduces  the  manners  of  the  early  colonial  times  with  suffi- 
cient accuracy.  It  is  less  ideal  than  "  Evangeline  ;  "  and  its 
realism  renders  its  hexameters  more  rugged.  The  reply  of 
the  Puritan  maiden  Priscilla,  as  John  Alden  was  pleading  the 
cause  of  his  rival,  was  not  a  poetic  fiction  :  — 


HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW.  2O/ 

"  But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple  and  eloquent  language, 
Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival, 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning  with  laughter, 
Said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  '  Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John?'" 

"  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  "  was  published  in  1858, 
along  with  a  number  of  miscellaneous  poems,  several  of  which 
deserve  especial  mention.  "  The  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine  " 
contains  the  well-known  stanza  :  — 

"The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 

Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight  ; 
But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night." 

"The  Two  Angels,"  a  poem  of  tender  pathos,  was  written, 
as  the  poet  tells  us,  "on  the  birth  of  my  younger  daughter,  and 
the  death  of  the  young  and  beautiful  wife  of  my  neighbor  and 
friend,  the  poet  Lowell."  For  the  dark  problem  of  life  he  finds 
but  the  one  solution  of  absolute  trust  in  Providence  :  — 

"  Angels  of  life  and  death  alike  are  his ; 

Without  his  leave  they  pass  no  threshold  o'er ; 
Who,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this, 
Against  his  messengers  to  shut  the  door  ?  " 

The  poem,  "  Children,"  like  the  later  one,  "  The  Children's 
Hour,"  reveals  to  us  the  poet's  tender,  sympathetic  nature  :  — 

"  For  what  are  all  our  contrivings, 
And  the  wisdom  of  our  books, 
When  compared  with  your  caresses, 
And  the  gladness  of  your  looks  ? 

Ye  are  better  than  all  the  ballads 

That  ever  were  sung  or  said; 
For  ye  are  living  poems, 

And  all  the  rest  are  dead." 

In  1861  an  awful  calamity  befell  the  poet.  His  wife  was 
so  severely  burned,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  extinguish  the 


208  A  ME  RICA  N  LITER  A  TURE. 

flames,  that  she  died  in  a  few  hours.  He  was  for  a  time  pros- 
trated by  the  blow.  When  he  began  to  recover,  he  sought, 
like  Bryant,  relief  from  his  sorrow  in  the  work  of  translation. 
Throughout  life  he  found  pleasure  in  turning  the  thoughts  of 
foreign  poets  into  his  native  tongue.  His  various  lyrical  ver- 
sions are  sufficient  to  fill  a  good-sized  volume.  But  he  now 
gave  himself  to  the  serious  task  of  turning  Dante's  "  Divina 
Commedia,"  of  which  he  had  long  been  a  devout  student,  into 
English  verse.  The  translation  closely  follows  the  original, 
and  is,  perhaps,  the  most  satisfactory  version  of  the  great  Ital- 
ian in  our  language. 

The  first  series  of  "Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn"  was  published 
in  1863,  the  two  succeeding  parts  appearing  in  1872  and  1873. 
The  plan  is  obviously  borrowed  from  Boccaccio  and  Chaucer. 
The  Wayside  Inn  was  an  old  tavern  at  Sudbury,  and  the  char- 
acters supposed  to  be  gathered  there  were  all  real.  The 
youth  — 

"  Of  quiet  ways, 
A  student  of  old  books  and  days," 

was  Henry  Ware  Wales,  a  liberal  benefactor  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege. The  young  Sicilian  was  Professor  Luigi  Monti,  an  inti- 
mate friend,  who  for  many  years  was  in  the  habit  of  dining 
with  the  poet  on  Sunday.  The  Spanish  Jew  was  Israel  Edrehi, 
who  is  described  as  the  poet  knew  him.  The  theologian  was 
Professor  Daniel  Treadwell.  The  poet  was  T.  W.  Parsons,  a 
man  of  real  genius,  but  of  very  retiring  nature.  The  musician 
was  Ole  Bull.  The  tales  are  borrowed  from  various  sources, — 
modern,  mediaeval,  Talmudic,  —  and  many  of  them  possess 
great  merit.  !  "  Paul  Revere's  Ride  "  is  written  with  rare  vigor. 
Among  the  other  more  notable  tales  are  "  The  Falcon  of  Ser 
Federigo,"  *  King  Robert  of  Sicily,"  "  Torquemada,"  "  The 
Birds  of  Killingworth,"  "The  Bell  of  Atri,"/y"The  Legend 
Beautiful,"  and  "  Kniina  and  Fginhard." 

Longfellow  early  conceived  the  purpose  "to  build  some 
tower  of  song  with  lofty  parapet."  In  1841  he  noted  in  his 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  209 

diary  :  "  This  evening  it  has  come  into  my  mind  to  undertake 
a  long  and  elaborate  poem  by  the  holy  name  of  Christ;  the 
theme  of  which  could  be  the  various  aspects  of  Christendom 
in  the  Apostolic,  Middle,  and  Modern  Ages."  Though  the 
task  was  long  delayed,  this  lofty  purpose  was  never  relin- 
quished, and  through  years  of  thought  it  slowly  assumed 
definite  shape.  After  nine  years  he  set  to  work  in  earnest  to 
compose  "  The  Golden  Legend,"  which  was  intended  to  illus- 
trate Christianity  in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  gives  a  vivid  picture 
of  the  manners  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The  story  running 
through  "  The  Golden  Legend  "  is  taken  from  the  minnesinger 
Hartmann  von  der  Aue.  The  poem  was  published  in  1851, 
without  any  intimation  of  the  larger  work  of  which  it  forms 
the  central  part. 

Nearly  a  score  of  years  passed  before  another  part  of  the 
trilogy  of  " Christus "  appeared.  It  was  properly  entitled  "The 
New  England  Tragedies,"  and  is  a  sickening  record  of  delu- 
sion, intolerance,  and  cruelty.  Unfortunately  the  imagination 
had  but  a  small  share  in  the  work,  which  is  little  more  than  a 
skilful  metrical  version  of  official  records.  It  was  published 
in  1868  as  an  independent  work,  and  was  received  rather 
coldly.  Considered  in  its  relation  to  the  larger  work,  it  must 
be  judged  unfortunate.  It  is  depressing  in  itself  ;  it  does  not 
represent  the  spirit  of  modern  Christianity  ;  and  it  leaves  the 
trilogy  of  "  Christus  "  incomplete. 

"  The  Divine  Tragedy,"  which  was  published  three  years 
later,  in  1871,  is  a  close  metrical  version  of  the  Gospel  history. 
It  presents  the  successive  scenes  in  the  life  of  Christ  in  a 
graphic  and  interesting  way.  The  effort  to  adhere  as  closely 
as  possible  to  the  language  of  the  Gospels  has  prevented  a 
very  high  degree  of  metrical  excellence.  With  the  publication 
of  "  The  Divine  Tragedy,"  the  plan  of  the  poet  was  revealed. 
Though  "  Christus  "  will  always  be  read  with  gentle  interest, 
especially  "  The  Golden  Legend,"  it  can  hardly  rank  among 
his  greatest  works. 

Of  his  other  poems,  only  a  few  can  be  mentioned.     "  The 


2IO  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Hanging  of  the  Crane  "  is  a  pathetic  picture  of  the  common 
course  of  domestic  life.  "  Morituri  Salutamus  "  is  an  admi- 
rable poem,  written  for  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  class  of 
1825  in  Bowdoin  College.  "  Keramos  "  is  a  second  successful 
effort  in  the  manner  of  Schiller's  "  Song  of  the  Bell."  "  A 
Book  of  Sonnets  "  shows  Longfellow  to  have  been  a  master 
in  that  difficult  form  of  verse.  The  several  small  volumes  of 
lyrics  published  in  the  later  years  of  his  life,  while  adding 
little  to  his  fame,  showed  that  the  poetic  fires  within  his  breast 
were  still  burning  brightly. 

Longfellow  had  now  lived  beyond  the  allotted  age  of  man. 
He  had  filled  out  a  beautiful,  well-rounded  life.  Both  as  a 
man  and  as  a  poet  he  had  gained  the  respect  and  love  of  two 
generations.  But  at  last,  with  little  warning,  the  end  came. 
On  March  15,  1882,  he  completed  his  last  poem,  "The  Bells 
of  San  Bias,"  with  the  words,  — 

"  Out  of  the  shadows  of  night 
The  world  rolls  into  light; 
It  is  daybreak  everywhere." 

A  little  more  than  a  week  later,  March  24,  he  passed  away. 
The  funeral  service,  in  keeping  with  his  unassuming  character, 
was  simple.  Only  his  family  and  a  few  intimate  friends  — 
among  them  Curtis,  Emerson,  and  Holmes  —  were  present; 
but  two  continents  were  mourning  his  death. 

"  His  gracious  presence  upon  earth 
Was  as  a  fire  upon  a  hearth ; 
As  pleasant  songs,  at  morning  sung, 
The  words  that  dropped  from  his  sweet  tongue 
Strengthened  our  hearts,  or,  heard  at  night, 

.  Made  all  our  slumbers  soft  and  light?' 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL.  211 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL. 

LOWELL  was  more  than  a  writer.  His  writings,  numerous 
and  excellent  as  they  are,  do  not  fully  represent  him.  He 
tried  to  follow  his  own  precept :  — 

"The  epic  of  a  man  rehearse; 
Be  something  better  than  thy  verse." 

None  of  our  literary  men  were  great  in  so  many  ways.  He 
ranks  high  as  a  poet.  His  critical  papers  are  among  the  most 
elaborate  and  excellent  produced  in  this  country.  He  was 
a  speaker  of  no  mean  ability,  and  a  scholar  of  wide  attain- 
ments. But  overshadowing  all  these  literary  accomplishments 
stands  his  personality,  —  a  man  of  strong  intellect,  wide  sym- 
pathies, and  sterling  integrity. 

He  appeared  among  the  earlier  singers  of  the  century. 
Though  influenced  for  a  time,  as  all  young  writers  are  apt  to 
be,  by  favorite  authors,  Lowell  is  strikingly  original.  In  his 
earlier  verse  we  detect  an  occasional  note  from  Tennyson  or 
Wordsworth ;  but  his  strong  intellect  soon  hewed  out  a  course 
of  its  own.  His  mind  was  tumultuous  with  the  interests  of 
his  day.  He  rushed  to  the  combat  for  truth  and  freedom  with 
abounding  zeal.  He  proclaimed  his  message  in  verse  distin- 
guished, not  for  harmony  and  grace,  but  for  vehemence  and 
force.  He  was  armed  with  heroic  courage :  — 

"They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 
In  the  right  with  two  or  three." 

He  believed  in  bravely  doing  his  part  to  right  existing 
wrongs  ;  for  — 


212  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  God  hates  your  sneakin'  creturs  that  believe 
He'll  settle  things  they  run  away  and  leave." 

Lowell  was  a  New  Englander,  not  only  by  birth,  but  by 
spirit  and  affection.  He  was  proud  of  his  Puritan  ancestry. 
He  loved  the  landscape  of  New  England  and  the  character  of 
its  people.  This  affection  gave  him  a  keen  insight  into  the 
strength  and  weakness  of  New  England  character,  and  made 
him  delight  in  its  peculiar  dialect :  — 

"  For  puttin'  in  a  downright  lick 

'Twixt  Humbug's  eyes,  there's  few  can  metch  it, 
And  then  it  helves  my  thoughts  ez  slick 
Ez  stret-grained  hickory  doos  a  hetchet." 

Though  a  broad-minded  patriot,  he  remained  throughout 
life  a  doughty  champion  of  New  England. 

The  Lowell  name  has  an  honored  place  in  the  history  of 
Massachusetts.  Each  generation,  since  the  first  settlement 
of  the  family  at  Newbury  in  1639,  has  had  its  distinguished 
representative.  The  city  of  Lowell  is  named  after  Francis 
Cabot  Lowell,  who  was  among  the  first  to  perceive  that  the 
prosperity  of  New  England  was  to  come  from  its  manufactures. 
John  Lowell  was  an  eminent  judge,  and  introduced  into  the 
Constitution  the  section  by  which  slavery  was  abolished  in 
Massachusetts.  John  Lowell,  Jr.,  by  a  bequest  of  $250,000, 
founded  Lowell  Institute  in  Boston.  As  a  family,  the  Lowells 
have  been  distinguished  for  practical  sense,  liberal  thought, 
and  earnest  character. 

James  Russell  Lowell  was  born  in  Cambridge,  Feb.  22, 
1819.  His  father,  as  well  as  his  grandfather,  was  an  able  and 
popular  minister.  The  poetic  strain  in  Lowell's  character  seems 
to  have  been  inherited  from  his  mother.  She  was  of  Scotch 
descent,  had  a  talent  for  languages,  and  was  passionately  fond 
of  old  ballads.  Thus  Lowell's  opening  mind  was  nourished 
on  minstrelsy  and  romance.  He  early  learned  to  appreciate 
what  is  beautiful  in  nature  and  in  life. 

He  entered  Harvard  College  in   1835  ;  but  no  part  of  his 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL.  21$ 

fame  rests  on  his  record  as  a  student.  He  had  an  invincible 
repugnance  to  mathematics ;  and  he  read  everything  else,  it 
has  been  said,  but  his  text-books.  For  irregularity  in  attend- 
ing morning  prayers,  he  was  suspended  for  a  time  ;  but  prayers 
were  then  held  at  sunrise!  His  genial  nature  and  recognized 
ability  made  him  a  favorite  among  his  fellow-students.  When 
he  graduated,  in  1838,  he  was  chosen  poet  of  his  class.  Then 
followed  the  study  of  law.  He  opened  an  office  in  Boston, 
but  his  heart  was  not  in  his  profession.  Various  poets  —  By- 
ron, Shelley,  Keats,  Coleridge,  Tennyson  —  were  more  to  him 
than  his  law-books.  In  his  abundant  leisure  he  wrote  a  story 
entitled  "  My  First  Client,"  but  it  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  got 
that  far  in  a  successful  legal  career. 

While  waiting  for  the  clients  that  never  came,  he  found 
solace  in  poetry.  Love  touched  his  heart,  and  caused  a  co- 
pious fountain  of  verse  to  gush  forth.  In  1841  he  published 
a  little  volume  with  the  title  "  A  Year's  Life."  Its  motto,  bor- 
rowed from  Schiller,  gave  the  key-note  to  the  poetry :  "  Ich  habe 
gclcbt  itnd  geliebet"  The  verse  was  inspired  by  Miss  Maria 
White,  a  refined,  beautiful,  and  sympathetic  woman,  whom  the 
poet  married  three  years  later,  and  with  whom  for  nearly  a 
decade  he  lived  in  almost  ideal  union.  This  volume  revealed 
the  presence  of  poetic  gifts  of  a  high  order. 

The  next  step  in  Lowell's  career  was  to  become  an  editor, 
—  a  calling  in  which  he  subsequently  achieved  enviable  dis- 
tinction. In  company  with  Robert  Carter,  he  established  the 
Pioneer  in  1843.  It  was  a  literary  journal  of  high  excellence. 
Among  its  contributors  were  Hawthorne,  Poe,  Whittier,  Story, 
and  Parsons,  —  a  galaxy  sufficient,  one  would  think,  to  insure 
success.  But  only  three  numbers  appeared.  The  public  of 
that  time  was  not  distinguished  for  literary  culture.  The  Pio- 
neer was  in  advance  of  its  day ;  and,  after  a  brief  career,  it 
may  be  said  to  have  died  a  glorious  death. 

In  1844  appeared  a  second  volume  of  poems,  in  which  the 
hand  of  a  master  is  apparent.  He  aims  to  rise  above  the 
empty  rhymer,  — 


214  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  Who  lies  with  idle  elbow  on  the  grass, 
And  fits  his  singing,  like  a  cunning  timer, 

To  all  men's  prides  and  fancies  as  they  pass." 

He  sings  of  love,  truth,  patriotism,  humanity,  religion,  cour- 
age, hope  —  great  themes  which  his  large  soul  expands  to  meet 
His  verse  may  be  at  times  exuberant  and  rhetorical,  but  it  em- 
bodies virile  power  of  thought  and  emotion.  The  fundamental 
principles,  not  only  of  all  his  poetry,  but  of  his  character,  are 
found  in  this  volume.  In  "  An  Incident  in  a  Railroad  Car  " 
we  see  his  sense  of  human  worth,  regardless  of  the  accidents 
of  fortune :  — 

"All  that  hath  been  majestical 

In  life  or  death,  since  time  began, 
Is  native  in  the  simple  heart  of  all, 
The  angel  heart  of  man. 

And  thus,  among  the  untaught  poor, 
Great  deeds  and  feelings  find  a  home, 
That  cast  in  shadow  all  the  golden  lore 
Of  classic  Greece  and  Rome." 

He  had  unwavering  confidence  in  the  indestructible  power 
of  truth.  In  "A  Glance  Behind  the  Curtain,"  he  says:  — 

"  Get  but  the  truth  once  uttered,  and  'tis  like 
A  star  new-born,  that  drops  into  its  place, 
And  which,  once  circling  in  its  placid  round, 
Not  all  the  tumult  of  the  earth  can  shake." 

A  well-known  passage  in  "  The  Present  Crisis  "  reveals  his 
faith  in  the  watchful  care  of  God  :  — 

"  Careless  seems  the  great  Avenger ;  history's  pages  but  record 
One  death-grapple  in  the  darkness  'twixt  old  systems  and  the  Word ; 
Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold,  Wrong  forever  on  the  throne,  — 
Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future,  and,  behind  the  dim  unknown, 
Standeth  God  within  the  shadow,  keeping  watch  above  his  own." 

His  love  of  human  freedom  is  revealed  in  the  poem  "  On 
the  Capture  of  Fugitive  Slaves  near  Washington  "  :  — 


JAMES  RUSSELL    LOWELL.  21$ 

"  He's  true  to  God  who's  true  to  man ;  wherever  wrong  is  done, 
To  the  humblest  and  the  weakest,  'neath  the  all-beholding  sun, 
That  wrong  is  also  done  to  us ;  and  they  are  slaves  most  base, 
Whose  love  of  right  is  for  themselves,  and  not  for  all  their  race." 

These  are  all  characteristic  themes  ;  and  because  they  came 
from  the  poet's  heart,  we  find  in  subsequent  poems  the  same 
truths  presented  again  and  again  in  richly  varied  language. 

With  his  strong,  positive  nature,  it  was  natural  for  Lowell 
to  take  part  in  the  slavery  agitation  of  the  time.  When  it  cost 
him  unpopularity,  he  had  the  courage  of  his  convictions.  He 
acted  as  he  wrote  :  — 

"  Then  to  side  with  Truth  is  noble  when  we  share  her  wretched  crust, 
Ere  her  cause  bring  fame  and  profit,  and  'tis  prosperous  to  be  just." 

The  first  series  of  "  The  Biglow  Papers  "  belongs  to  the 
period  of  the  Mexican  War ;  the  second  series,  to  the  period 
of  the  Civil  War.  In  these  poems,  written  in  what  he  calls 
the  Yankee  dialect,  Lowell  gives  free  rein  to  all  his  resources 
of  argument,  satire,  and  wit.  He  hits  hard  blows.  A  forcible 
truth  is  sometimes  clothed  in  homely  language  :  — 

"  Laborin'  man  an'  laboriri'  woman 
Hev  one  glory  an'  one  shame. 
Ev'y  thin'  that's  done  inhuman 
Injers  all  on  'em  the  same." 

The  "pious  editor,"  who  reverences  Uncle  Sam,  "partic'- 
larly  his  pockets,"  confesses  his  creed  :  — 

"  I  du  believe  in  prayer  an'  praise 

To  him  that  hez  the  grantin' 
O'  jobs,  —  in  every  thin'  thet  pays, 

But  most  of  all  in  CANTIN'; 
This  doth  my  cup  with  marcies  fill, 

This  lays  all  thought  o'  sin  to  rest, — 
I  don't  believe  in  princerple, 

But  O,  I  du  in  interest." 


2l6  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  little  poem  "  What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks  "  was  a  pal- 
pable hit,  with  its  refrain  :  — 

"  But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  for  Guvener  B." 

These  lines  took  hold  of  the  public  fancy,  and  were  re- 
peated in  season  and  out  of  season.  It  is  said  that  Mr.  Rob- 
inson, who  was  a  worthy  man,  went  abroad  to  get  away  from 
the  sound  of  his  own  name.  But  on  going  to  his  hotel  in 
Liverpool,  the  first  thing  he  heard  was  a  childish  voice  re- 
peating :  — 

"  But  John  P. 
Robinson  he." 


"  The  Biglow  Papers  "  deservedly  ranks  as  our  best  politi- 
cal satire. 

In  1848  appeared  "The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,"  which  must 
always  remain  his  most  popular  work.  It  is  a  treatment  of 
the  old  legend  of  the  Holy  Grail ;  and,  excepting  Tennyson's 
idyl,  nothing  more  worthy  of  the  theme  has  ever  been  written. 
The  poem  was  written  at  white-heat.  It  was  composed  sub- 
stantially in  its  present  form  in  forty-eight  hours,  during  which 
the  poet  scarcely  ate  or  slept.  We  find  in  it  a  full  expression 
of  his  poetic  powers,  —  his  energetic  thought,  his  deep  emotion, 
his  vigorous  imagination.  In  the  preludes  the  poet's  love  of 
nature  is  apparent,  as  well  as  the  strong  moral  feeling  that 
formed  the  substratum  of  his  character.  What  lines  are  of  tener 
quoted  than  these  :  — 

"  And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 
Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days." 

And  the  following  verses  contain  a  vigorous  bit  of  moral- 
izing :  — 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL.  21 7 

"  For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking." 

The  same  year  appeared  "  A  Fable  for  Critics,"  a  literary 
satire  without  the  savagery  of  Byron's  "  English  Bards  and 
Scotch  Reviewers,"  or  the  malignancy  of  Pope's  "  Dunciad." 
It  is  a  humorous  review  of  the  leading  American  authors  of 
the  day;  but  beneath  the  fun  there  is  a  sober  judgment  that 
rarely  erred  in  its  estimates.  Along  with  atrocious  rhymes 
and  barbarous  puns,  there  are  many  felicitous  characteriza- 
tions. He  calls  Bryant,  to  whom  he  was  scarcely  just,  an 
iceberg  :  — 

"  If  he  stir  you  at  all,  it  is  just,  on  my  soul, 
Like  being  stirred  up  with  the  very  North  Pole." 

He  hits  off  Poe  as  follows  :  — 

"  There  comes  Poe,  with  his  raven,  like  Barnaby  Rudge, 
Three-fifths  of  him  genius,  and  two-fifths  sheer  fudge." 

He  was  quite  as  severe  to  himself  as  to  any  of  his  contem- 
poraries; and,  as  will  be  seen  from  the  following  lines,  he  was 
not  blind  to  his  own  peculiarities  :  — 

"There  is  Lowell,  who's  striving  Parnassus  to  climb  — 
With  a  whole  bale  of  isms  tied  together  with  rime; 
He  might  get  on  alone,  spite  of  brambles  and  boulders, 
But  he  can't  with  that  bundle  he  has  on  his  shoulders ; 
The  top  of  the  hill  he  will  ne'er  come  nigh  reaching, 
Till  he  learns  the  distinction  'twixt  singing  and  preaching; 
His  lyre  has  some  chords  that  would  ring  pretty  well, 
But  he'd  rather  by  half  make  a  drum  of  the  shell, 
And  rattle  away  till  he's  old  as  Methusalem, 
At  the  head  of  a  march  to  the  last  New  Jerusalem." 

The  poem  is  loose  in  construction  and  unsymmetrical  in 
form,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  poet  never  thought  it 
worth  while  to  bring  it  into  artistic  shape.  It  was  first  pub- 


2l8  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

lished  anonymously,  but  its  authorship  was  soon  fixed.  Lowell 
was  the  only  man  in  America  who  could  have  written  it. 

A  larger  career  was  now  opening  before  him.  Up  to  the 
time  of  her  death,  in  1853,  his  wife,  in  their  beautiful  home  at 
Elmwood,  had  stimulated  him  to  high  endeavor.  Always  fond 
of  reading,  and  blessed  with  a  capacious  memory,  he  had  ac- 
quired a  wide  range  of  knowledge.  In  the  winter  of  1854-55, 
he  delivered  before  the  Lowell  Institute  a  course  of  twelve 
lectures  on  the  British  poets.  Disdaining  the  arts  of  the  popu- 
lar orator,  he  placed  his  reliance  for  success,  where  alone  it 
can  permanently  rest,  on  genuine  merit.  He  read  his  lectures 
in  an  earnest,  manly  way  ;  and  their  learning,  thought,  critical 
insight,  and  poetic  feeling  gave  to  every  discourse  an  inde- 
scribable charm. 

In  1855,  on  the  resignation  of  Longfellow,  he  was  appointed 
professor  of  modern  languages  at  Harvard,  with  a  leave  of  ab- 
sence for  two  years,  to  study  abroad.  He  resided  chiefly  at 
Dresden,  and  gave  himself  to  a  methodical  course  of  reading 
in  European  literature.  Like  all  men  of  large  mould,  he  had 
an  immense  capacity  for  assimilation.  When  he  returned  to 
America  in  1857,  and  entered  upon  his  duties,  he  was  not  un- 
worthy to  occupy  the  chair  of  his  illustrious  predecessor.  He 
was  an  admirable  lecturer;  and  while  his  ability  commanded  the 
respect,  his  ready  kindness  won  the  affection,  of  the  students. 
Harvard  has  never  had,  perhaps,  a  more  popular  professor. 

The  year  1857  witnessed  two  important  events  in  the  life 
of  Lowell.  The  first  was  his  marriage  to  Miss  Frances  Dunlop 
of  Portland,  Me.,  who  had  superintended  the  education  of  his 
daughter  during  his  absence  abroad.  The  second  was  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Atlantic,  of  which  he  became  editor-in-chief. 
His  contributions  were  in  both  prose  and  poetry,  and  were,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  of  a  high  order.  He  continued  as  editor  till 
1862,  when  he  was  succeeded  by  Mr.  Fields.  But  his  editorial 
career  was  not  yet  ended.  In  1864  he  took  charge  of  the  North 
American  Review,  of  which  he  remained  editor,  till  1873.  He 
was  particularly  kind  to  young  writers,  and  lost  no  opportunity 
to  speak  a  word  of  encouragement. 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL.  2 19 

In  1864  he  published  a  volume  in  prose,  entitled  "Fireside 
Travels,"  containing  "Cambridge  Thirty  Years  Ago,"  "A 
Moosehead  Journal,"  and  "Leaves  from  My  Journal  in  Italy 
and  Elsewhere."  It  is  a  delightful  book,  full  of  wit,  wisdom, 
and  exuberant  fancy.  The  tide  of  a  full,  strong  life  is  reflected 
in  its  pages.  Here  is  a  characteristic  bit  of  description:  "The 
chief  feature  of  the  place  was  its  inns,  of  which  there  were  five, 
with  vast  barns  and  courtyards,  which  the  railroad  was  to  make 
as  silent  and  deserted  as  the  palaces  of  Nimroud.  Great  white- 
topped  wagons,  each  drawn  by  double  files  of  six  or  eight 
horses,  with  its  dusty  bucket  swinging  from  the  hinder  axle, 
and  its  grim  bull-dog  trotting  silent  underneath,  or  in  midsum- 
mer panting  on  the  lofty  perch  beside  the  driver  (how  elevated 
thither  baffled  conjecture),  brought  all  the  wares  and  products  of 
the  country  to  their  mart  and  seaport  in  Boston.  These  filled 
the  inn-yards,  or  were  ranged  side  by  side  under  broad-roofed 
sheds;  and  far  into  the  night  the  mirth  of  their  lusty  drivers 
clamored  from  the  red-curtained  bar-room,  while  the  single 
lantern,  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  black  cavern  of  the  stables, 
made  a  Rembrandt  of  the  group  of  ostlers  and  horses  below." 

"Under  the  Willows,"  a  volume  of  poems  published  in 
1869,  exhibits  Lowell's  poetic  genius  at  the  zenith  of  its  power. 
It  is  less  luxuriant  in  manner,  and  its  chaster  form  adds  force 
to  its  wisdom  and  pathos.  There  is  scarcely  a  poem  that  is  not 
remarkable  for  some  beauty.  Sometimes  it  is  a  tender  recol- 
lection of  the  past;  again  it  is  some  weighty  truth  or  telling 
apologue;  or  it  is  a  bit  of  irresistible  pathos  or  prophetic  asser- 
tion of  divine  truth.  The  poems  were  composed  at  intervals 
through  many  years,  according  to  his  usual  method :  — 

"  Now,  I've  a  notion,  if  a  poet 
Beat  up  for  themes,  his  verse  will  show  it ; 
I  wait  for  subjects  that  hunt  me, 
By  day  or  night  won't  let  me  be, 
And  hang  about  me  like  a  curse, 
Till  they  have  made  me  into  verse." 

In  "The  First  Snow-Fall"  there  is  a  fine  touch  of  pathos:  — 


220  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  Then,  with  eyes  that  saw  not,  I  kissed  her ; 

And  she,  kissing  back,  could  not  know 
That  my  kiss  was  given  to  her  sister, 
Folded  close  under  deepening  snow." 

The  following  triplet,  from  "  For  an  Autograph,"  is  a  noble 
summons  to  lofty  purpose :  — 

"  Greatly  begin  !   though  thou  have  time 
But  for  a  line,  be  that  sublime, — 
Not  failure,  but  low  aim,  is  crime." 

"  Mahmood  the  Image-Breaker  "  teaches  the  incomparable 
worth  of  human  integrity :  — 

"  Little  were  a  change  of  station,  loss  of  life  or  crown, 
But  the  wreck  were  past  retrieving,  if  the  Man  fell  down." 

The  Commemoration  Odes  of  Lowell  are  the  best  of  their 
kind  written  in  this  country.  Perhaps  they  have  never  been 
surpassed.  He  seized  upon  special  occasions  to  pour  forth  a 
rich  strain  of  patriotic  reflection,  eloquent  thought,  and  poetic 
feeling  and  imagery.  The  "Ode  Recited  at  the  Harvard  Com- 
memoration," in  memory  of  the  ninety-three  graduates  who  had 
died  in  the  Civil  War,  appealed  most  strongly  to  the  poet's 
heart.  "Among  those  who  had  lost  their  lives  were  eight  rela- 
tives of  the  poet.  As  he  recited  the  poem,  it  is  said  that  his 
face,  always  expressive,  was  almost  transfigured  with  the  glow 
of  an  inward  light.  Its  exalted  key  is  struck  in  the  opening 

lines:  — 

"  Weak-winged  is  song, 
Nor  aims  at  that  clear-ethered  height 
Whither  the  brave  deed  climbs  for  light : 

We  seem  to  do  them  wrong, 
Bringing  our  robin's  leaf  to  deck  their  hearse 
Who  in  warm  life-blood  wrote  their  nobler  verse." 

The  "Ode  "  read  at  the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of  the 
fight  at  Concord  bridge  is  an  eloquent  paean  of  freedom.  It 
pays  a  glowing  tribute  to  "  the  embattled  farmers  :  "  — 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL.  221 

"  They  were  men 

Schooled  the  soul's  inward  gospel  to  obey, 
Though  leading  to  the  lion's  den." 

"Under  the  Old  Elm,"  read  at  Cambridge  on  the  hundredth 
anniversary  of  Washington's  taking  command  of  the  American 
army,  eloquently  commemorates  the  character  and  achieve- 
ments of  the  "  Father  of  his  Country  :  "  — 

"  Out  of  that  scabbard  sprang,  as  from  its  womb, 
Nebulous  at  first  but  hardening  to  a  star, 
Through  mutual  share  of  sunburst  and  of  gloom, 
The  common  faith  that  made  us  what  we  are." 

"  The  Cathedral "  is  Lowell's  longest  poem.  Somewhat 
uneven  in  its  merits,  it  contains  many  noble  passages.  It 
might  be  made  to  illustrate  nearly  every  prominent  point  in 
the  poet's  character.  As  compared  with  his  earlier  writings, 
it  reveals  the  presence  of  a  slightly  conservative  tendency. 
The  leading  incidents  of  the  poem  are  connected  with  a  visit 
to  the  cathedral  of  Chartres.  He  was  filled  with  admiration 
at  the  consecrated  spirit  of  a  former  age  that  sought  expres- 
sion in  such  a  miracle  of  stone  :  — 

"  I  gazed  abashed, 

Child  of  an  age  that  lectures,  not  creates, 
Plastering  our  swallow-nests  on  the  awful  Past, 
And  twittering  round  the  work  of  larger  men, 
As  we  had  builded  what  we  but  deface." 

His  deep  religious  nature  is  evident  throughout  the  poem, 
though  his  creed  is  larger  than  that  of  his  Puritan  ancestors. 
Softened  by  the  touch  of  an  all-embracing  sympathy  and  char- 
ity, he  finds  that  — 

"  God  is  in  all  that  liberates  and  lifts, 
In  all  that  humbles,  sweetens,  and  consoles." 

In  "  The  Cathedral  "  we  have  a  striking  instance  of  the 
wilful  caprice  with  which  his  muse  sometimes  startles  us.  At 


222  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

the  hotel  in  Chartres  he  met  two  Englishmen  who  mistook 
him  for  a  Frenchman. 

"  My  beard  translated  me  to  hostile  French  ; 
So  they,  desiring  guidance  in  the  town, 
Half  condescended  to  my  baser  sphere, 
And,  clubbing  in  one  mess  their  lack  of  phrase, 
Set  their  best  man  to  grapple  with  the  Gaul. 
'  Esker  vous  ate  a  nabitang  ? '  he  asked  : 
'I  never  ate  one;  are  they  good?'  asked  I; 
Whereat  they  stared,  then  laughed,  and  we  were  friends." 

Considered  in  the  most  favorable  light,  the  poet's  wit  on 
this  occasion  can  hardly  be  said  to  display  particular  bril- 
liancy ;  and  to  introduce  the  incident  into  a  grave  and  ele- 
vated poem  is  a  bit  of  freakishness  that  makes  "  the  judicious 
grieve." 

Of  Lowell's  prose  writings,  there  is  not  space  to  speak  in 
detail.  The  three  volumes  entitled  "  My  Study  Windows " 
and  "  Among  My  Books  "  (two  volumes)  are  made  up  of  es- 
says. "  My  Study  Windows  "  is  of  greatest  general  interest. 
It  opens  with  three  delightful  papers  entitled  "  My  Garden 
Acquaintance,"  "  A  Good  Word  for  Winter,"  and  "  On  a  Cer- 
tain Condescension  in  Foreigners."  In  these  the  keen  wit, 
kindly  humor,  and  shrewd  observation  of  Lowell  appear  at 
their  best.  Of  his  various  garden  acquaintance,  to  give  a 
single  quotation,  he  says  :  "  If  they  will  not  come  near  enough 
to  me  (as  most  of  them  will),  I  bring  them  close  with  an  opera- 
glass,  —  a  much  better  weapon  than  a  gun.  I  would  not,  if  I 
could,  convert  them  from  their  pretty  pagan  ways.  The  only 
one  I  sometimes  have  savage  doubts  about  is  the  red  squirrel. 
I  think  he  oologizes.  I  know  he  eats  cherries  (we  counted  five 
of  them  at  one  time  in  a  single  tree,  the  stones  pattering  down 
like  the  sparse  hail  that  preludes  a  storm),  and  that  he  gnaws 
off  the  small  ends  of  pears  to  get  at  the  seeds.  He  steals  the 
corn  from  under  the  noses  of  my  poultry.  But  what  would 
you  have  ?  He  will  come  down  upon  the  limb  of  the  tree  I 


JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL.  22 3 

am  lying  under  till  he  is  within  a  yard  of  me.  He  and  his 
mate  will  scurry  up  and  down  the  great  black  walnut  for  my 
diversion,  chattering  like  monkeys.  Can  I  sign  his  death- 
warrant  who  has  tolerated  me  about  his  grounds  so  long  ?  Not 
I.  Let  them  steal,  and  welcome.  I  am  sure  I  should,  had  I 
had  the  same  bringing  up  and  the  same  temptation.  As  for 
the  birds,  I  do  not  believe  there  is  one  of  them  but  does  more 
good  than  harm  ;  and  of  how  many  featherless  bipeds  can  this 
be  said  ?  " 

Lowell  occupies  a  foremost  place  among  American  critics. 
For  the  critic's  office  he  was  eminently  qualified,  both  by  natural 
gifts  and  broad  scholarship.  The  two  volumes  of  "  Among  My 
Books  "  are  devoted  chiefly  to  elaborate  studies  of  "  Dryden," 
"  Shakespeare  Once  More,"  "  Dante,"  "  Spenser,"  "  Words- 
worth," "  Milton,"  and  "  Keats."  In  each  case  a  wide  range 
of  reading  is  made  to  contribute  its  treasures.  The  essays, 
supplied  with  numerous  foot-notes,  are  learned  to  a  degree 
that  is  almost  oppressive.  Lowell  displays  a  deep  insight  and 
great  soundness  of  judgment.  His  style  is  rich  in  allusion. 
At  times  it  is  epigrammatic ;  and  again  it  is  not  unlike  his  own 
description  of  Milton's  style.  "  Milton's  manner,"  he  says,  "  is 
very  grand.  It  is  slow,  it  is  stately,  moving  as  in  triumphal 
procession,  with  music,  with  historic  banners,  with  spoils  from 
every  time  and  region ;  and  captive  epithets,  like  huge  Si- 
cambrians,  thrust  their  broad  shoulders  between  us  and  the 
pomp  they  decorate."  Now  and  then  his  humor  lights  up  a 
sentence  or  paragraph  in  the  most  unexpected  way. 

As  a  few  other  of  our  literary  men,  Lowell  was  appointed 
to  represent  this  country  abroad.  His  diplomatic  career  de- 
tracts nothing  from  his  reputation.  He. was  appointed  minister 
to  Spain  in  1877,  and  three  years  later  minister  to  England. 
Without  any  occasion  to  display  great  diplomatic  gifts,  he  filled 
his  post  faithfully,  and  fostered  international  good  feeling.  In 
the  social  and  literary  circles  of  England  his  culture  and  genius 
gained  for  him  a  proud  distinction. 

Lowell  was  frequently  called  on  for  addresses.     Among  his 


224  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

works  is  a  volume  entitled  "  Democracy  and  Other  Addresses." 
He  was  not  an  orator  so  much  as  a  refined  and  scholarly 
speaker.  He  spoke  in  an  earnest,  conversational  tone,  depend- 
ing upon  the  weight  of  his  utterance  to  secure  the  attention 
and  interest  of  his  hearers.  He  made  no  use  of  gesture.  He 
did  not  soar  to  the  heights  of  impassioned  utterance,  of  which 
we  must  believe  him  to  have  been  capable.  He  did  not  move 
a  great  popular  assembly,  but  to  the  scholarly  and  cultivated 
he  was  a  delightful  speaker. 

Lowell  lived  beyond  the  allotted  age  of  three  score  and  ten. 
His  latter  years  were  sweetened  by  the  tribute  of  honor  and 
love  which  a  great  people  united  in  paying  him.  He  died 
Aug.  12,  1891,  recognized  at  home  and  abroad  as  a  man  of 
high  gifts  and  noble  character.  He  is,  perhaps,  our  best  repre- 
sentative man  of  letters.  An  English  critic  has  fairly  expressed 
the  feeling  abroad :  "  No  poetic  note  higher  or  deeper  than 
his,  no  aspirations  more  firmly  touched  towards  lofty  issues, 
no  voice  more  powerful  for  truth  and  freedom,  have  hitherto 
come  to  us  from  across  the  Atlantic." 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.  22$ 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

WHITTIER  has  been  called  the  Burns  of  New  England ;  and 
that  title  is  not  without  justification.  He  owed  the  first  awa- 
kening of  his  poetic  talent  to  the  Scottish  bard  ;  and,  like  him, 
he  has  cast  a  glory  over  the  homely  scenes  of  his  native 
region.  In  the  choice  of  his  themes  he  is  less  a  national 
than  a  sectional  poet.  Less  cosmopolitan  than  Longfellow  and 
Lowell,  he  is  pre-eminently  the  poet  of  New  England.  It  is 
the  spirit,  the  legend,  and  the  landscape  of  New  England  that 
are  reflected  in  his  verse. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier  sprang  from  Quaker  ancestry,  and 
the  memory  of  the  wrongs  inflicted  upon  his  sect  at  an  earlier 
day  never  left  him.  He  was  born  near  the  town  of  Haverhill, 
Mass.,  Dec.  17,  1807.  The  house  was  an  old  one,  surrounded 
by  fields  and  woods ;  and  in  front  of  it,  to  use  the  poet's 
words,  a  brook  "  foamed,  rippled,  and  laughed."  The  Merri- 
mac  River  was  not  far  away.  He  helped  to  till  an  unfriendly 
soil;  and  in  his  leisure  hours  he  wandered  over  the  hills  or 
loitered  along  the  streams. 

Like  Franklin,  Whittier  was  a  self-made  man.  His  early 
education  was  limited  to  brief  terms  in  the  district  school.  He 
was  fond  of  reading,  but  his  father's  library  contained  only  a 
score  of  tedious  volumes.  For  a  number  of  years  the  Bible 
was  his  principal  resource  for  history,  poetry,  and  eloquence ; 
and  encouraged  and  aided  by  his  mother,  he  made  its  literary 
and  religious  treasures  a  permanent  possession. 

In  spite  of  the  meagre  advantages  of  his  frugal  home,  as 
compared  with  our  present  opulence  of  books  and  papers,  he 
had  the  wealth  of  exuberant  life  and  observant  eyes.  Nature 
became  his  inspiring  teacher.  In  "The  Barefoot  Boy,"  with 
its  childhood  memories,  he  says:  — 


226  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  I  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees, 
Humming-birds  and  honey-bees ; 
For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played, 
Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade ; 
For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 
Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone ; 
Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  night." 

The  monotony  of  the  hospitable  farmhouse  was  relieved 
now  and  then  by  the  visits  of  peddlers.  Strolling  people  were 
looked  on  more  indulgently  then  than  now.  When  Whittier 
was  fourteen  years  old  his  first  schoolmaster  brought  to  the 
Quaker  home  a  volume  of  Burns,  from  which  he  read,  to  the 
boy's  great  delight.  It  kindled  the  poetic  fire  within.  "  I 
begged  him  to  leave  the  book  with  me,"  the  poet  said  years 
afterwards,  "and  set  myself  at  once  to  the  task  of  mastering 
the  glossary  of  the  Scottish  dialect  at  its  close.  This  was 
about  the  first  poetry  I  had  ever  read  (with  the  exception  of 
that  of  the  Bible,  of  which  I  had  been  a  close  student),  and 
it  had  a  lasting  influence  upon  me.  I  began  to  make  rhymes 
myself,  and  to  imagine  stories  and  adventures." 

In  1826  Whittier  made  the  acquaintance  of  William  Lloyd 
Garrison,  who  exerted  no  small  influence  upon  his  subsequent 
career.  Garrison  had  established  the  Free  Press  at  Newbury- 
port.  A  poem  contributed  by  young  Whittier  so  impressed 
him  with  its  indications  of  genius  that  he  visited  the  Quaker 
lad  in  his  home,  and  warmly  urged  a  cultivation  of  his  talents. 
The  visit  was  not  fruitless.  The  gifted  youth  resolved  to  ob- 
tain a  better  education  ;  and  to  acquire  the  necessary  means, 
which  his  father  was  not  able  to  supply,  he  learned  the  art  of 
shoemaking.  In  1827  he  entered  the  Academy  in  Haverhill, 
and  by  his  genial  nature  and  his  literary  ability  quickly  attained 
a  position  of  distinction. 

After  two  terms  at  the  Academy  and  a  brief  interval  of 
teaching,  he  served  an  apprenticeship  to  the  literary  craft  by 
editing  or  contributing  to  several  newspapers.  His  writings, 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.  22"J 

both  in  prose  and  in  poetry,  attracted  attention.  Without  the 
breadth  of  culture  enjoyed  by  some  contemporary  writers  who 
afterward  became  famous,  he  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  young 
man  of  great  promise.  "  The  culmination  of  that  man's  fame," 
the  New  England  Review  declared  in  1829,  "will  be  a  proud 
period  in  the  history  of  our  literature." 

A  wider  field  soon  opened  before  him.  In  1830  George  D. 
Prentice  gave  up  the  editorial  management  of  the  New  Eng- 
land Weekly  Review  of  Hartford,  and  Whittier  was  called  to 
succeed  him.  For  a  year  and  a  half  he  edited  the  paper  with 
ability  and  success.  He  avoided  the  coarse  personalities  which 
at  that  time  disgraced  American  journalism.  He  was  a  strong 
advocate  of  temperance,  freedom,  and  religion.  A  resolute 
heart  beat  under  his  quiet  manner  and  sober  Quaker  dress. 
He  published  in  the  Review  no  fewer  than  forty-two  poems, 
most  of  which  he  afterwards  suppressed.  But  among  those 
retained  in  his  collected  works  are  "The  Frost  Spirit,"  "The 
Cities  of  the  Plain,"  and  "The  Vaudois  Teacher."  In  1832, 
on  account  of  ill-health,  Whittier  severed  his  connection  with 
the  Review. 

He  took  an  earnest  and  active  part  in  the  anti-slavery 
movement.  He  surrendered  his  literary  ambition  to  what  he 
believed  the  call  of  duty.  He  displayed  the  self-sacrificing 
heroism  of  a  sincere  reformer.  In  his  own  words  :  — 

"  From  youthful  hopes,  —  from  each  green  spot 
Of  young  Romance  and  gentle  Thought, 
Where  storm  and  tumult  enter  not,  — 

From  each  fair  altar,  where  belong 
The  offerings  Love  requires  of  Song 
In  homage  to  her  bright-eyed  throng,  — 

With  soul  and  strength,  with  heart  and  hand, 
I  turned  to  Freedom's  struggling  band, — 
To  the  sad  Helots  of  our  land." 

In  1833  he  published  a  strong  pamphlet  against  slavery, 
entitled  "Justice  and  Expediency;  or,  Slavery  considered  with 


228  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

a  view  to  its  Rightful  and  Effectual  Remedy,  Abolition."  It 
was  printed  and  circulated  at  his  own  expense,  costing  him  a 
considerable  part  of  his  year's  earnings. 

In  his  anti-slavery  agitation  he  more  than  once  encountered 
mob  violence  in  Massachusetts  and  New  Hampshire.  In  1837 
he  went  to  Philadelphia  to  write  for  the  Pennsylvania  Freeman, 
of  which  he  became  editor  a  few  months  later.  It  was  issued 
from  Pennsylvania  Hall,  a  large  building  erected  by  the  anti- 
slavery  people  of  the  city.  The  building  was  subsequently 
sacked  and  burned  by  a  mob.  But  in  spite  of  his  loss,  Whit- 
tier  continued  to  issue  his  paper  regularly,  until  he  was  forced 
to  give  up  the  enterprise  by  failing  health.  It  was  out  of  his 
own  experience  that  he  wrote  in  "  The  Preacher  "  :  — 

"  Never  in  custom's  oiled  grooves 
The  world  to  a  higher  level  moves, 
But  grates  and  grinds  with  friction  hard 
On  granite  boulder  and  flinty  shard." 

Unlike  his  friend  Garrison,  Whittier  favored  political  action. 
He  wished  to  re-enforce  moral  suasion  with  the  ballot.  He 
stoutly  supported  the  several  political  organizations  known  suc- 
cessively as  the  Liberty  party,  Free-Soil  party,  and  Republican 
party,  which  were  opposed  to  slavery.  During  all  these  years 
of  agitation,  he  took  advantage  of  every  occasion  to  send 
forth  impassioned  anti-slavery  verse.  In  '1849  tnese  poems 
were  collected  into  a  volume  entitled  "Voices  of  Freedom." 
Their  vehemence,  as  in  "Stanzas,"  "Clerical  Oppressors," 
"The  Pastoral  Letter,"  and  "The  Branded  Hand,"  almost 
reaches  fierceness.  Though  Longfellow  and  Lowell  wrote  no- 
table anti-slavery  poems,  Whittier  may  justly  be  considered 
the  laureate  of  the  abolition  movement. 

While  engaged  in  the  anti-slavery  movement,  Whittier  did 
not  wholly  give  up  his  purely  literary  work.  The  family  resi- 
dence had  been  changed  to  Amesbury,  and  he  depended  on 
his  pen  for  support.  He  was  a  valued  contributor  to  several 
periodicals,  among  which  were  the  New  England  Magazine  and 


JOHN  GKEENLEAF   WHITTIER.  2  29 

the  Democratic  Review.  In  these  some  of  his  best  work  ap- 
peared. "  Mogg  Megone  "  and  "The  Bridal  of  Pennacook" 
are  Indian  tales,  chiefly  noteworthy  for  their  vivid  description 
of  New  England  scenery.  Of  the  former  Whittier  did  not 
have  a  high  opinion,  and  sarcastically  described  it  as  "a  big 
Injun  strutting  about  in  Walter  Scott's  plaid,"  which  is  not  far 
from  the  truth.  "  Cassandra  Southwick  "  is  a  justly  admired 
ballad  founded  on  the  persecution  of  the  Quakers  in  Massa- 
chusetts. 

Whittier  was  intensely  democratic  in  his  feelings.  He  did 
not  believe  in  the  divine  right  of  any  class  to  lord  it  over  their 
fellow-men.  Through  all  the  disguises  of  toil,  poverty,  and  sin, 
he  recognized  the  innate  worth  and  natural  rights  of  man.  In 
the  poem  "  Democracy  "  he  says  :  — 

"  By  misery  unrepelled,  unawed 

By  pomp  or  power,  thou  seest  a  MAN 
In  prince  or  peasant,  —  slave  or  lord,  — 
Pale  priest,  or  swarthy  artisan. 

Through  all  disguise,  form,  place,  or  name, 
Beneath  the  flaunting  robes  of  sin, 

Through  poverty  and  squalid  shame, 
Thou  lookest  on  the  man  within. 

On  man,  as  man,  retaining  yet, 

Howe'er  debased,  and  soiled,  and  dim, 

The  crown  upon  his  forehead  set,  — 
The  immortal  gift  of  God  to  him." 

In  harmony  with  this  broad  human  sympathy,  he  wrote  a 
series  of  poems,  unsurpassed  of  their  kind,  to  which  he  gave 
the  name  of  "Songs  of  Labor."  They  are  intended  to  show,  — 

"  The  unsung  beauty  hid  life's  common  things  below." 

In  these  songs  the  labors  of  "  The  Shipbuilders,"  "  The 
Shoemakers,"  "The  Drovers,"  "The  Fishermen,"  "The  Husk- 
ers,"  and  "  The  Lumbermen,"  pass  before  us  in  idealized  form. 

\Vhittier  wa"s  never  married.     But  little  of  his  poetry  is  in- 


230  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

spired  by  love,  the  master  motive  of  song.  Yet  there  are  indi- 
cations, unmistakable  and  tender,  that  his  life  was  not  without 
its  romance.  The  little  poem  "  In  School  Days  "  is  too  nat- 
ural and  too  charming  to  have  been  fiction  :  — 

"  He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes ;  he  felt 
The  soft  hand's  light  caressing, 
And  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice, 
As  if  a  fault  confessing: 

'  I'm  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word ; 

I  hate  to  go  above  you, 
Because  "  —  the  brown  eyes  lower  fell,  — 
'Because,  you  see,  I  love  you.'" 

And  in  "  Memories "  we  have  a  fond  picture  of  a  later 
day:- 

"  I  hear  again  thy  low  replies, 

I  feel  thine  arm  within  my  own, 
And  timidly  again  uprise 
The  fringed  lids  of  hazel  eyes, 
With  soft  brown  tresses  overflown. 
Ah,  memories  of  sweet  summer  eves, 
Of  moonlit  wave  and  willowy  way, 
Of  stars  and  flowers,  and  dewY  leaves, 
And  smiles  and  tones  more  dear  than  they." 

Whittier  does  not  belong  to  the  bards  of  doubt.  Like 
most  of  the  strong  singers  of  the  present  century,  he  recog- 
nized the  divine  presence  as  existent  and  operative  in  all 
things.  His  verse  is  filled  with  the  cheer  of  hope  and  cour- 
age. In  "  The  Reformer  "  he  says  :  — 

"  But  life  shall  on  and  upward  go ; 

Th'  eternal  step  of  Progress  beats 
To  that  great  anthem,  calm  and  slow, 
Which  God  repeats. 

Take  heart !  —  the  Waster  builds  again,  — 
A  charmed  life  old  Goodness  hath ; 

The  tares  may  perish,  —  but  the  grain 
Is  not  for  death. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.  2$  I 

God  works  in  all  things ;  all  obey 

His  first  propulsion  from  the  night : 
Wake  thou  and  watch  !  —  the  world  is  gray 
^  With  morning  light." 

It  was  this  faith  that  sustained  him  in  the  midst  of  detrac- 
tion, violence,  and  loss.  In  "  Barclay  of  Ury,"  he  exclaims  :  — 

"  Happy  he  whose  inward  ear 
Angel  comfortings  can  hear 

O'er  the  rabble's  laughter ; 
And  while  Hatred's  fagots  burn, 
Glimpses  through  the  smoke  discern 

Of  the  good  hereafter." 

For  a  dozen  years  Whittier  was  a  regular  contributor  to  the 
National  Era,  an  organ  of  the  anti-slavery  party  established 
in  1847.  ^n  this  paper  appeared  some  of  his  most  character- 
istic work,  both  in  poetry  and  prose.  His  muse  had  gained  in 
breadth  of  thought  and  sentiment.  It  was  at  this  time  he 
wrote  :  — 

"  I  love  the  old  melodious  lays 
Which  softly  melt  the  ages  through, 

The  songs  of  Spenser's  golden  days, 
Arcadian  Sidney's  silvery  phrase, 
Sprinkling  our  noon  of  time  with  freshest  morning  dew." 

Among  the  eighty  poems  contributed  to  the  National  Era, 
some  of  those  needing  special  mention  are  "  Tauler,"  "  Burns," 
"  Kathleen,"  "  Stanzas  for  the  Times,"  "  Trust,"  "  A  Sabbath 
Scene,"  "  Calef  in  Boston,"  "The  Last  Walk  in  Autumn," 
"  Ichabod,"  and  "  Maud  Muller."  They  reach  the  higher  levels 
of  song,  and  give  gemlike  expression  to  some  noble  thought 
or  sentiment.  "  Ichabod,"  meaning,  as  Bible  readers  will  re- 
member, "  the  glory  hath  departed,"  is  a  dirge  over  Webster 
for  the  compromising  spirit  shown  by  him  in  a  speech  in  1850. 
It  is  full  of  suppressed  power. 

"  The  Last  Walk  in  Autumn  "  is  a  beautiful  study  of  New 
England  landscape,  it  abounds  in  noble  thought,  and  contains 


232  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

life-like  portraits  of  Emerson,  Bayard  Taylor,  and  Sumner.  At 
times,  as  the  poet  tells  us,  he  longs  for  gentler  skies  and  softer 
air  ;  but  after  all  he  prefers  the  vigor  of  a  colder  clime :  — 

"  Better  to  stem  with  heart  and  hand 
The  roaring  tide  of  life,  than  lie, 
Unmindful,  on  its  flowery  strand, 
Of  God's  occasions  drifting  by ! 
Better  with  naked  nerve  to  bear 
The  needles  of  this  goading  air, 
Than,  in  the  lap  of  sensual  ease,  forego 
The  godlike  power  to  do,  the  godlike  aim  to  know." 

Among  the  prose  contributions  to  the  National  Era  was  a 
series  of  biographical  studies,  "  Bunyan,"  "  Andrew  Marvell," 
"  Richard  Baxter,"  and  others,  entitled  "  Old  Portraits,"  and 
"  Margaret  Smith's  Journal  in  the  Province  of  Massachusetts 
Bay,  1678-9."  The  latter  is  a  kind  of  historical  novel,  written 
in  the  antique  style  belonging  to  the  period  it  describes.  It 
introduces  the  leading  characters  and  incidents  of  the  time, 
and  reproduces  the  old  colonial  life  in  a  very  realistic  way. 
In  1860  appeared  a  volume  of  "  Home  Ballads,  Poems,  and 
Lyrics,"  which  contains  a  number  of  notable  pieces.  "  Skipper 
Ireson's  Ride,"  with  its  refrain  and  pathetic  conclusion,  is  well 
known :  — 

"  So  with  soft  relentir 
Half  scorn,  half  pity, 
And  gave  him  a  cloak  to  hide  him  in, 
And  left  him  alone  with  his  shame  and  sin. 
Poor  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead." 

In  "  The  Shadow  and  the  Light "  the  poet  seeks  an  answer 
to  the  immemorial  problem  of  evil  :  — 

"  O,  why  and  whither  ?  —  God  knows  all ; 

I  only  know  that  he  is  good, 
And  that  whatever  may  befall 
Or  here  or  there,  must  be  the  best  that  could 


ings  and  rude  excuse,   S~~ 

ty,  they  gut  him  loose^ flO^ '  > 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.  233 

For  he  is  merciful  as  just ; 

And  so,  by  faith  correcting  sight, 
I  bow  before  his  will,  and  trust 
<Howe'er  they  seem  he  doeth  all  things  right." 

In  "  Times,"  written  for  an  agricultural  and  horticultural 
exhibition,  the  beauty  and  blessedness  of  labor  are  finely 
presented  :  — 

"Give  fools  their  gold,  and  knaves  their  power; 

Let  fortune's  bubbles  rise  and  fall ; 

Who  sows  a  field,  or  trains  a  flower, 

Or  plants  a  tree,  is  more  than  all. 

For  he  who  blesses  most  is  blest ; 

And  God  and  man  shall  own  his  worth 
Who  toils  to  leave  as  his  bequest 

An  added  beauty  to  the  earth." 

The  Civil  War  was  repugnant  to  Whittier's  Quaker  prin- 
ciples. He  looked  on  war  as  murder  ;  and  his  preference  was 
to  let  the  South  secede,  and  work  out  her  destiny  as  a  slave- 
holding  country.  But  he  was  not  an  indifferent  spectator  when 
once  the  issue  was  joined.  The  collection  of  songs,  "  In  War 
Time,"  is  pervaded  by  a  sad  yet  trustful  spirit :  — 

"  The  future's  gain 

Is  certain  as  God's  truth  ;  but,  meanwhile,  pain 
Is  bitter,  and  tears  are  salt ;  our  voices  take 
A  sober  tone  ;  our  very  household  songs 
Are  heavy  with  a  nation's  griefs  and  wrongs ; 
And  innocent  mirth  is  chastened  for  the  sake 
Of  the  brave  hearts  that  nevermore  shall  beat, 
The  eyes  that  smile  no  more,  the  unreturning  feet.' 

He  rejoiced  at  the  freedom  that  at  last  came  to  the 
negro  :  — 

"  Not  as  we  hoped  ;  —  but  what  are  we  ? 
Above  our  broken  dreams  and  plans 
God  lays,  with  wiser  hand  than  man's, 
The  corner-stones  of  liberty." 


234  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  best  known  of  his  war  poems  is  "  Barbara  Frietchie," 
which  vividly  describes  an  incident  that  never  happened. 
After  the  termination  of  the  war,  Whittier  favored  a  magnani- 
mous policy  toward  the  South,  and  desired  that  t*here  might 
be  "  no  unnecessary  hangings  to  gratify  an  evil  desire  of 
revenge." 

"  Snow- Bound,"  a  winter  idyl,  is  an  exquisite  description 
of  country  life  in  New  England  two  generations  ago.  It  por- 
trays the  early  home  of  the  poet,  showing  us  its  modest  inte- 
rior, and  giving  us  portraits  of  its  various  inmates.  After  the 
boding  storm  had  buried  every  object  beneath  the  snow  :  — 

"  A  prompt,  decisive  man,  no  breath 
Our  father  wasted ;  '  Boys,  a  path  ! ' " 

At  night  the  spacious  fireplace  was  heaped  with  wood; 

"  Then,  hovering  near, 
We  watched  the  first  red  blaze  appear, 
Heard  the  sharp  crackle,  caught  the  gleam 
On  whitewashed  wTall  and  sagging  beam, 
Until  the  old,  rude-furnished  room 
Burst,  flower-like,  into  rosy  bloom." 

Whittier's  mother  was  a  woman  of  good  sense,  native  re- 
finement, and  benign  face.  Here  is  her  portrait :  — 

"  Our  mother,  while  she  turned  her  wheel, 
Or  run  the  new-knit  stocking-heel, 
Told  how  the  Indian  hordes  came  down 
At  midnight  on  Cocheco  town, 
And  how  her  own  great-uncle  bore 
His  cruel  scalp-mark  to  fourscore. 
Recalling,  in  her  fitting  phrase, 

So  rich  and  picturesque  and  free 

(The  common  unrhymed  poetry 
Of  simple  life  and  country  ways), 
The  story  of  her  early  days,  — 
She  made  us  welcome  to  her  home." 

Another  inmate  is  thus  sketched  :  — 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.  235 

"  Our  uncle,  innocent  of  books, 
Was  rich  in  lore  of  fields  and  brooks. 


In  moons  and  tides  and  weather  wise, 
He  read  the  clouds  as  prophecies, 
And  foul  or  fair  could  well  divine, 
By  many  an  occult  hint  and  sign, 
Holding  the  cunning-warded  keys 
To  all  the  woodcraft  mysteries." 

The  maiden  aunt  is  tenderly  drawn  :  — 

"  The  sweetest  woman  ever  Fate 
Perverse  denied  a  household  mate, 
Who,  lonely,  homeless,  not  the  less 
Found  peace  in  love's  unselfishness." 

Of  his  sister  Mary  the  poet  says  :  — 

"  There,  too,  our  elder  sister  plied 
Her  evening  task  the  stand  beside; 
A  full,  rich  nature,  free  to  trust, 
Truthful  and  almost  sternly  just, 
Impulsive,  earnest,  prompt  to  act, 
And  make  her  generous  thought  a  fact, 
Keeping  with  many  a  light  disguise 
The  secret  of  self-sacrifice." 

Of  his  sister  Elizabeth,  a  noble  woman  of  poetic  gifts,  he 
thus  speaks  :  — 

"  As  one  who  held  herself  a  part 
Of  all  she  saw,  and  let  her  heart 

Against  the  household  bosom  lean, 
Upon  the  motley-braided  mat 
Our  youngest  and  our  dearest  sat, 
Lifting  her  large,  sweet,  asking  eyes." 

Of  other  portraits  and  scenes  in  this  admirable  poem, 
which  deserves  to  rank  with  "The  Deserted  Village"  and 
"  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  there  is  not  space  to  speak. 


236  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  The  Tent  on  the  Beach,"  published  in  1867,  somewhat  re- 
sembles Longfellow's  "Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,"  or  Chaucer's 
"  Canterbury  Tales,"  in  its  structure.  The  poet  and  his  two 
friends,  Bayard  Taylor  and  James  T.  Fields,  encamping  on  the 
seashore,  enlivQn  their  sojourn  with  tales  of  the  olden  time. 
The  portraits  of  the  party  are  skilfully  drawn  ;  but  most  inter- 
esting of  all  is  the  poet's  sketch  of  himself  :  — 

"  And  one  there  was,  a  dreamer  born, 

Who,  with  a  mission  to  fulfil, 
Had  left  the  Muses'  haunts  to  turn 

The  crank  of  an  opinion  mill, 
Making  his  rustic  reed  of  song 
A  weapon  in  the  war  with  wrong, 
Yoking  his  fancy  to  the  breaking-plough 
That  beam-deep  turned  the  soil  for  truth  to  spring  and  grow." 

Of  the  nine  stories  related  in  "  The  Tent  on  the  Beach," 
all  but  two  refer  to  New  England  themes. 

Though  troubled  with  increasing  infirmity,  especially  with 
deafness,  Whittier  wore  old  age  gracefully.  He  continued  to 
write  to  the  last.  Many  of  his  later  poems  are  pervaded  by  a 
deep  religious  spirit.  Several  of  them  possess  an  autobio- 
graphic interest,  as  expressly  setting  forth  the  poet's  views  of 
God  and  immortality.  A  profound  faith  took  away  his  dread 
of  death  ;  and  in  "The  Eternal  Goodness  "  he  says  :  — 

"  And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar; 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 
On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

A  similar  trust  finds  expression  in  "  My  Birthday."  It  is 
repeated  in  the  pathetic  lines  "What  the  Traveler  Said  at 
Sunset"  :  — 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.  ,    237 

"  The  shadows  grow  and  deepen  round  me, 

I  feel  the  dew-fall  in  the  air; 
The  muezzin  of  the  darkening  thicket 
I  hear  the  night-thrush  call  to  prayer. 

I  go  to  find  my  lost  and  mourned  for 
Safe  in  Thy  sheltering  goodness  still, 

And  all  that  hope  and  faith  foreshadow 
Made  perfect  in  Thy  holy  will." 

The  leading  characteristics  of  Whittier's  poetry  may  be 
recognized  in  what  has  already  been  presented.  We  miss,  for 
the  most  part,  a  classic  finish  of  style.  His  verse  is  vital 
rather  than  statuesque.  Sometimes  we  meet  with  false  accents 
and  faulty  rhymes.  He  does  not  treat  of  the  great  questions 
started  by  modern  research,  nor  undertake  to  solve  existing 
social  problems.  From  the  start  he  takes  his  stand  in  the  re- 
gion of  faith,  which  finds  a  solution  of  all  problems  in  the 
love  of  God.  He  loved  nature ;  and  while  his  observation 
was  confined  chiefly  to  a  part  of  New  England,  he  has  given 
us  landscape  pictures  of  almost  matchless  beauty. 

One  of  the  charms  of  his  verse  comes  from  its  sincerity. 
He  was  no  mere  artist  in  verse,  seeking  themes  with  prosaic 
calculation,  and  then  polishing  them  into  a  cold,  artificial  lustre. 
With  him  poetry  was  not  so  much  an  end  as  a  means.  He 
used  it  as  his  principal  weapon  in  his  battle  against  wrong. 
He  made  it  the  medium  of  passionate  truth.  His  verse  has 
a  vitality  that  brings  it  home  to  the  hearts  of  men,  inspiring 
them  with  new  strength,  courage,  and  hope. 

Modest  to  a  marked  degree,  Whittier  did  not  fully  appre- 
ciate the  grandeur  of  his  life  nor  the  worth  of  his  verse.  He 
had  the  true  dignity  of  a  noble  nature.  While  scorning  noto- 
riety, he  valued  genuine  sympathy.  The  loving  spirit  of  his 
verse  was  exemplified  in  his  daily  life.  He  was  sympathetic 
and  helpful.  His  friendships  were  constant  and  beautiful.  In 
social  life  he  had  a  kindly  humor  that  rarely  found  a  place 
in  his  earnest  verse.  His  genius  was  not  eccentric.  He  was 


238  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

a  man  of  conviction,  of  purpose,  of  courage.  He  preferred  a 
life  of  earnest  struggle  to  a  life  of  ignoble  ease,  —  a  sentiment 
to  which  he  gave  expression  in  the  beautiful  autobiographic 
poem  "  My  Birthday  "  :  — 

"  Better  than  self-indulgent  years 
The  outflung  heart  of  youth, 
Than  pleasant  songs  in  idle  years 
The  tumult  of  the  truth." 

His  last  years,  as  was  fitting,  were  serene.  After  many 
stormy  years,  he  had  at  last  won  an  honored  place  in  the 
literature  of  our  country,  and,  what  is  better,  in  the  hearts  of 
our  people.  The  wisest  and  best  delighted  to  do  him  honor. 
His  home  at  Danvers,  Mass.,  became  a  place  of  pilgrimage. 
After  reaching  a  ripe  old  age,  he  passed  away  Sept.  7,  1892. 
In  the  slightly  altered  words  of  Longfellow,  addressed  to  the 
"  Hermit  of  Amesbury  "  on  his  seventieth  birthday  :  — 

"  Thou  too  hast  heard 

Voices  and  melodies  from  beyond  the  gates, 
And  spoken  only  when  thy  soul  was  stirred." 


\ 


OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES- 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES,  239 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES. 

HOLMES  was  the  latest  survivor  of  the  remarkable  group 
of  writers  who  may  be  said  to  have  created  American  litera- 
ture. He  was  not  the  greatest  of  the  group ;  but  there  is 
scarcely  any  other  whose  works  are  more  widely  read.  Under 
the  present  stress  of  life  in  America,  there  are  very  many  per- 
sons who  would  rather  be  amused  than  instructed.  When  an 
author  succeeds  in  both  amusing  and  instructing,  he  has  a 
double  claim  upon  the  grateful  affection  of  the  public.  This 
twofold  end  Holmes  achieved  more  fully  than  any  of  his  con- 
temporaries. 

He  stood  aloof,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  from  the  great 
movements  in  which  the  other  New  England  writers  of  his 
day  were  more  or  less  engaged.  He  had  but  little  sympathy 
with  transcendentalism.  Instead  of  depending  upon  an  "  inner 
light,"  he  placed  his  reliance,  with  true  Baconian  spirit,  in 
observation,  evidence,  investigation.  When,  as  rarely  hap- 
pened, he  attempted  to  be  profound  in  his  speculations,  he 
was  not  notably  successful.  Conservative  in  temperament, 
he  did  not  aspire  to  the  role  of  a  social  reformer.  His  in- 
difference to  the  abolition  movement  brought  upon  him  the 
censure  of  some  of  its  leaders.  Unswayed  by  external  influ- 
ences, he  steadfastly  adhered  to  the  path  he  had  marked  out 
for  himself. 

He  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  versatile  of  men. 
Though  far  more  earnest  than  is  commonly  supposed,  he  was 
not  dominated,  as  was  Emerson,  by  a  profound  philosophy. 
His  poetry  has  not  the  power  that  springs  from  a  great  moral 
purpose.  He  did  not  concentrate  all  his  energies  upon  a  sin- 
gle department  of  literature  or  science.  He  was  a  physician, 


240  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

lecturer,  poet,  essayist,  novelist ;   and  such  were   his  brilliant 
gifts  that  he  attained  eminence  in  them  all. 

Right  or  wrong,  most  persons  distrust  the  judgment  and 
earnestness  of  a  man  of  wit.  Accustomed  to  laugh  at  his  play 
of  fancy,  they  feel  more  or  less  injured  when  he  talks  in  a 
serious  strain.  They  seek  his  society  for  entertainment  rather 
than  for  counsel.  Holmes  well  understood  this  popular  pre- 
judice; but  he  was  far  too  faithful  to  his  genius  to  affect  a 
solemnity  he  did  not  feel.  In  his  delightful  poem  "  Nux  Post- 
ccenatica,"  he  excuses  himself  from  a  public  dinner :  — 

"Besides  —  my  prospects  —  don't  you  know  that  people  won't  employ 
A  man  that  wrongs  his  manliness  by  laughing  like  a  boy  ? 
And  suspect  the  azure  blossom  that  unfolds  upon  a  shoot, 
As  if  wisdom's  old  potato  could  not  flourish  at  its  root?" 

Holmes  was  a  firm  believer  in  heredity.  No  small  part  of 
his  writings  is  devoted  to  a  discussion  or  illustration  of  inher- 
ited tendencies.  Yet  he  did  not  take  a  special  interest  in  his 
own  ancestry,  though  they  were  of  the  best  New  England  stock. 
He  had,  to  use  his  own  words,  "a  right  to  be  grateful  for  a 
probable  inheritance  of  good  instincts,  a  good  name,  and  a 
bringing  up  in  a  library  where  he  bumped  about  among  books 
from  the  time  when  he  was  hardly  taller  than  one  of  his  father's 
or  grandfather's  folios."  He  was  born  in  Cambridge,  Aug.  29, 
1809 ;  another  annus  mirabilis,  it  has  been  called,  as  the  birth- 
year  also  of  Lincoln,  Darwin,  Tennyson,  and  Gladstone.  His 
father,  the  Rev.  Abiel  Holmes,  was  a  Congregational  minister 
of  scholarly  tastes  and  attainments.  His  "Annals  of  Amer- 
ica" is  a  careful  and  useful  history.  Holmes's  mother  is  de- 
scribed as  a  bright,  vivacious  woman,  of  small  figure,  social 
tastes,  and  sprightly  manners  —  characteristics  that  reappeared 
in  the  son. 

In  his  "Autobiographical  Notes,"  only  too  brief  and  frag- 
mentary, Holmes  has  given  us  glimpses  of  his  childhood.  He 
was  a  precocious  child,  thoughtful  beyond  his  years.  He  made 
a  good  record  at  school,  and  was  fond  of  reading.  Among  his 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES.  241 

favorite  books  was  Pope's  "  Homer,"  which  never  lost  its  charm 
for  him.  His  reading  was  fragmentary.  "  I  have  always  read 
in  books,"  he  says,  "  rather  than  through  them,  and  always  with 
more  profit  from  the  books  I  read  in  than  the  books  I  read 
through;  for  when  I  set  out  to  read  through  a  book  I  always 
felt  that  I  had  a  task  before  me  ;  but  when  I  read  in  a  book  it 
was  the  page  or  the  paragraph  that  I  wanted,  and  which  left  its 
impression,  and  became  a  part  of  my  intellectual  furniture." 

After  a  preparatory  course  at  Andover,  Holmes  entered  Har- 
vard College  in  1825,  graduating  four  years  later  in  what  be- 
came "the  famous  class  of  '29."  There  are  scant  records  of  his 
college  days.  Whatever  may  have  been  his  devotion  to  study, 
it  is  certain  that  he  was  not  indifferent  to  convivial  pleasures. 
His  talent  for  rhyming  led  to  his  appointment  as  class  poet. 
The  class  feeling  was  stronger  in  those  days  than  it  is  now; 
and,  after  a  time,  the  "class  of  '29"  held  annual  dinners  in 
Boston.  No  one  entered  into  these  reunions  with  greater  zest 
than  Holmes.  Beginning  with  the  year  1851,  he  furnished  for 
twenty-six  consecutive  years  one  or  more  poems  for  each  reu- 
nion. The  best  known  of  these  class  poems  is  "  Bill  and  Joe," 
which  contains,  in  the  poet's  happiest  manner,  mingled  humor 
and  pathos : 

"  Come,  dear  old  comrade,  you  and  I 
Will  steal  an  hour  from  days  gone  by, 
The  shining  days  when  life  was  new, 
And  all  was  bright  with  morning  dew, 
The  lusty  days  of  long  ago, 
When  you  were  Bill  and  I  was  Joe." 

After  graduation,  Holmes  began  the  study  of  law,  and  at- 
tended lectures  for  a  year.  But  he  found  that  he  was  on 
the  wrong  track,  and  gave  it  up  for  medicine.  He  attended 
two  courses  of  lectures  in  Boston,  and  then  went  abroad  to 
complete  his  course.  He  took  time  to  do  some  sight-seeing, 
and  visited  England,  Holland,  Germany,  Switzerland,  and  Italy. 
But  he  spent  most  of  his  two  years  abroad  in  Paris,  where  he 
gave  himself  diligently  to  professional  study.  He  had  exalted 


242  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ideas  of  his  profession  —  a  little  better  than  he  carried  out. 
"  Medicine,"  he  said,  "  is  the  most  difficult  of  sciences  and  the 
most  laborious  of  arts.  It  will  task  all  your  powers  of  body 
and  mind,  if  you  are  faithful  to  it.  Do  not  dabble  in  the 
muddy  sewers  of  politics,  nor  linger  by  the  enchanted  streams 
of  literature,  nor  dig  in  far-off  fields  for  the  hidden  waters  of 
alien  sciences.  The  great  practitioners  are  generally  those 
who  concentrate  all  their  powers  on  their  business." 

There  is  an  incident  in  his  life  while  yet  a  law-student  that 
must  not  be  passed  over.  He  had  been  writing  for  The  Col- 
legian a  good  many  verses  that  were  well  received.  Indeed,  to 
borrow  his  phrase,  he  had  become  infected  with  the  "  lead- 
poisoning  of  type-metal."  One  day  he  read  that  the  Navy 
Department  had  issued  orders  for  the  breaking  up  of  the  old 
frigate  Constitution,  then  lying  at  Charlestown.  His  soul  was 
deeply  stirred ;  and,  seizing  a  scrap  of  paper,  he  dashed  off  the 
passionate  lines  of  "  Old  Ironsides  :  "  — 

"  Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky; 
Beneath  it  rang  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ;  — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more  I " 

The  stirring  words  of  the  poem,  copied  in  the  press  through- 
out the  country,  found  a  response  in  the  heart  of  the  people. 
Under  the  sudden  blaze  of  indignation,  the  astonished  Secre- 
tary revoked  his  order,  and  the  gallant  vessel  was  spared  for 
half  a  century.  This  result  was  a  remarkable  achievement  for 
a  young  man  who  had  just  attained  his  majority. 

In  1836  Holmes  opened  an  office  in  Boston  as  a  practising 
physician.  He  was  sympathetic,  painstaking,  and  conscien- 
tious ;  and  in  a  reasonable  time  he  gained  a  fair  practice.  In 
spite  of  his  fondness  for  literature,  he  continued  his  profes- 
sional studies  with  unusual  diligence  and  success.  He  won 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES.  243 

several  prizes  by  medical  essays.  But  his  scholarly  tastes  fitted 
him  better  for  a  medical  lecturer  than  for  a  practitioner ;  and 
in  1838  he  was  much  gratified  to  be  elected  Professor  of  Anat- 
omy at  Dartmouth  College,  —  a  position  that  required  his  pres- 
ence there  only  three  months  of  the  session. 

The  year  he  opened  his  office  in  Boston,  he  published  his 
first  volume  of  verse.  From  a  professional  standpoint  it  was, 
perhaps,  an  unwise  thing  to  do.  People  are  instinctively  averse 
to  going  to  poets  for  prescriptions.  But  he  was  far  from  indif- 
ferent to  his  reputation  as  a  poet.  As  between  the  two,  he 
would  probably  have  chosen  to  go  down  to  posterity  famed  for 
his  gifts  in  poetry  rather  than  for  his  skill  in  medicine.  The 
slender  volume  contained  several  pieces  that  have  since  re- 
mained general  favorites.  His  poetic  powers  matured  early ; 
and,  among  all  the  productions  of  his  subsequent  years,  there 
is  nothing  better  than  "The  Last  Leaf"  —  that  inimitable  com- 
bination of  humor  and  pathos.  One  of  its  stanzas  is  a  perfect 
gem:  — 

"  The  mossy  marbles  rest 
On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom, 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 
On  the  tomb." 

His  jolly  humor  nowhere  else  finds  better  expression  than 
in  "  My  Aunt,"  "  The  September  Gale,"  and  "  The  Height  of 
the  Ridiculous." 

In  1840,  the  year  his  connection  with  Dartmouth  College 
ceased,  Holmes  thought  himself  well  enough  established  to 
end  his  bachelorhood.  His  tastes  were  strongly  domestic. 
Accordingly,  he  married  Miss  Amelia  Lee  Jackson,  a  gentle, 
affectionate,  considerate  woman,  who  appreciated  her  hus- 
band's talents,  and,  with  a  noble  devotion,  helped  him  to 
make  the  most  of  them.  For  nearly  fifty  years  her  delicate 
tact  shielded  him  from  annoyances,  and  her  skilful  manage- 
ment relieved  him  of  domestic  cares. 


244  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

In  1847  Holmes  was  elected  Professor  of  Anatomy  and 
Physiology  in  Harvard  University.  The  chair  was  afterwards 
divided,  and  he  had  charge  of  anatomy.  He  held  this  position 
for  the  long  period  of  thirty-five  years.  He  recognized  the 
danger  of  falling  into  an  unprogressive  routine.  "I  have  no- 
ticed," he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "that  the  wood  of  which  academic 
fauteuils  are  made  has  a  narcotic  quality,  which  occasionally 
renders  their  occupants  somnolent,  lethargic,  or  even  coma- 
tose." But  he  escaped  this  danger;  and,  taking  a  deep  inter- 
est in  his  department,  he  remained  a  wide-awake,  progressive 
teacher  to  the  end.  His  lectures  were  illumined  with  a  corus- 
cating humor  that  made  them  peculiarly  interesting. 

About  the  middle  of  the  century  the  popular  lecture  was 
in  great  vogue  in  New  England.  Men  of  distinguished  abil- 
ity did  not  disdain  this  means  of  disseminating  wisdom  and 
replenishing  their  pockets.  Like  Emerson,  Holmes  made  lec- 
turing tours.  Though  not  imposing  in  person  nor  gifted  in 
voice,  he  was  much  sought  after  for  his  unfailing  vivacity  and 
wit.  In  the  "Autocrat"  he  makes  a  humorous  reference  to 
his  experience  as  a  lecturer.  "Family  men-,"  he  says,  "get 
dreadfully  homesick.  In  the  remote  and  bleak  village  the 
heart  returns  to  the  red  blaze  of  the  logs  in  one's  fireplace 
at  home. 

•There  are  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play.' 

No,  the  world  has  a  million  roosts  for  a  man,  but  only  one 
nest." 

The  founding  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  the  name  of  which 
he  suggested,  was  an  important  event  in  the  life  of  Holmes. 
He  was  engaged  to  write  for  it;  and  the  result  was  "The  Auto- 
crat of  the  Breakfast  Table,"  perhaps  the  best  of  all  his  works. 
He  here  revealed  himself  as  a  charming  writer  of  prose.  The 
"Autocrat"  talks  delightfully  on  a  hundred  different  subjects, 
presenting  with  a  careless  grace  and  irrepressible  humor  the 
accumulated  wisdom  of  years  of  observation  and  study.  Noth- 
ing is  too  small  or  too  great  for  his  reflections.  "There  are 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES.  245 

few  books,"  as  George  William  Curtis  well  said,  "that  leave 
more  distinctly  the  impression  of  a  mind  teeming  with  riches 
of  many  kinds.  It  is,  in  the  Yankee  phrase,  thoroughly  wide 
awake.  There  is  no  languor,  and  it  permits  none  in  the  reader, 
who  must  move  along  the  page  warily,  lest  in  the  gay  profusion 
of  the  grove,  unwittingly  defrauding  himself  of  delight,  he  miss 
some  flower  half-hidden,  some  gem  chance-dropped,  some  dart- 
ing bird." 

Interspersed  through  the  brilliant  talk  of  the  "Autocrat" 
are  nearly  a  score  of  poems,  partly  humorous  and  partly  seri- 
ous. Several  of  these  rank  among  the  poet's  choicest  produc- 
tions. A  special  charm  is  given  to  each  poem  by  its  setting. 
"  The  Chambered  Nautilus  "  was  Holmes's  favorite  among  all 
his  poems.  "  Booked  for  immortality  "  was  Whittier's  criticism 
the  moment  he  read  it.  The  last  stanza  gives  beautiful  expres- 
sion to  the  aspiration  of  a  noble  spirit :  — 

"  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea." 

The  humorous  poem  "  Contentment "  embodied,  as  he  tells 
us,  "the  subdued  and  limited  desires  of  his  maturity:"  — 

"Little  I  ask;  my  wants  are  few; 

I  only  wish  a  hut  of  stone, 
(A  very  plain  brown  stone  will  do,) 

That  I  may  call  my  own ;  — 
And  close  at  hand  is  such  a  one, 
In  yonder  street  that  fronts  the  sun." 

Other  poems  from  the  "  Autocrat "  deserving  special  men- 
tion are  "Musa,"  "What  We  All  Think,"  "Latter-Day  Warn- 
ings," "  ^Estivation,"  and,  above  all  these,  "The  Deacon's 
Masterpiece." 


246  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

About  the  time  the  Atlantic  was  founded,  the  Saturday  Club 
came  into  existence,  and  numbered  among  its  members  Emer- 
son, Hawthorne,  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Whittier,  Motley,  Agassiz, 
and  other  distinguished  literary  men  of  Boston  and  Cambridge. 
They  dined  together  the  last  Saturday  of  every  month.  A 
more  brilliant  club  had  not  existed  since  the  days  of  John- 
son and  Goldsmith.  Holmes  took  great  pride  in  it,  and  added 
greatly  to  its  festive  meetings.  He  was  a  prince  of  talkers. 
His  wise,  witty,  genial,  vivacious  talk  is  said  to  have  been  even 
better  than  his  books.  He  called  talking  "one  of  the  fine 
arts."  He  probably  had  the  Saturday  Club  in  mind  when,  in 
the  "  Autocrat,"  he  defined  an  intellectual  banquet  as  "  that 
carnival-shower  of  questions  and  replies  and  comments,  large 
axioms  bowled  over  the  mahogany  like  bombshells  from  pro- 
fessional mortars,  and  explosive  wit  dropping  its  trains  of 
many-colored  fire,  and  the  mischief-making  rain  of  bon-bons 
pelting  everybody  that  shows  himself." 

Holmes  was  strongly  attached  to  Boston,  and  was  really 
its  poet  laureate.  He  playfully  said  that  the  "  Boston  State 
House  is  the  hub  of  the  solar  system,"  and  in  his  heart  half 
believed  it.  He  received  a  proud  and  affectionate  recognition 
from  the  city.  He  was  expected  to  grace  every  great  festive 
occasion  with  his  presence,  and  to  contribute  a  poem  to  its 
enjoyment.  The  number  of  these  occasional  pieces  is  surpris- 
ing ;  they  form  no  inconsiderable  part  of  his  poetical  works. 
Of  their  kind  they  are  unsurpassed.  Year  after  year  Holmes 
met  the  demand  upon  him  with  unfailing  freshness  and  vigor. 
But  it  goes  without  saying  that  vers  de  socitie  does  not  belong 
to  the  highest  order  of  poetry.  It  does  not  sound  the  deeper 
notes  of  song,  nor  entitle  the  poet,  no  matter  how  brilliant  may 
be  his  verse,  to  rank  with  those  "  to  whom  poetry,  for  its  own 
sake,  has  been  a  passion  and  belief." 

Holmes  was  strongly  drawn  to  theological  subjects.  It 
may  be  true,  as  has  been  suggested,  that  he  inherited  "eccle- 
siastical pugnacity  ;  "  but  it  was  not  exercised  in  defending  the 
ecclesiastical  beliefs  and  institutions  of  his  ancestors.  A  theo- 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES.  247 

logical  thread  runs  through  nearly  all  his  prose  writings ;  and 
his  uniform  antipathy  to  what  he  believed  to  be  erroneous 
creeds  does  more  than  anything  else  to  give  them  unity.  Yet 
at  heart  he  was  a  religious  man.  His  anchor  was  "trust  in 
God."  He  held  to  the  doctrine  of  immortality.  He  looked 
upon  this  world  as  a  training-school.  In  his  "  Autobiographi- 
cal Notes,"  written  in  his  old  age,  he  says,  "  This  colony  of  the 
universe  is  an  educational  institution  so  far  as  the  human  race 
is  concerned.  On  this  theory  I  base  my  hopes  for  myself  and 
my  fellow-creatures.  If,  in  the  face  of  all  the  so-called  evil  to 
which  I  cannot  close  my  eyes,  I  have  managed  to  retain  a 
cheerful  optimism,  it  is  because  this  educational  theory  is  at 
the  basis  of  my  working  creed." 

"The  Professor  at  the  Breakfast  Table,"  published  in  1859, 
is  devoted  chiefly  to  a  discussion  of  theological  subjects. 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  "  Professor's  "  views,  there 
can  be  no  question  about  the  confidence  and  the  skill  with 
which  they  are  presented.  The  dramatis  persona,  if  one  may 
use  the  phrase,  are  interesting  ;  and  the  death-scene  of  the  Lit- 
tle Gentleman  is  the  most  pathetic  incident  in  all  Holmes's 
writings.  Judged  from  an  artistic  standpoint,  the  "Professor  " 
is  somewhat  below  the  "Autocrat."  It  is  less  spontaneous, 
being  written  largely,  one  might  think,  to  relieve  the  author's 
mind  of  a  theological  burden.  Or,  to  borrow  his  own  words, 
"The  first  juice  that  runs  of  itself  from  the  grapes  comes  from 
the  heart  of  the  fruit,  and  tastes  of  the  pulp  only;  when  the 
grapes  are  squeezed  in  the  press,  the  flow  betrays  the  flavor  of 
the  skin." 

The  third  and  last  of  the  Breakfast  Table  series  was  "  The 
Poet  at  the  Breakfast  Table,"  which  appeared  in  1873.  It  is 
hazardous  to  attempt  to  repeat  successes  ;  but  the  result  justi- 
fied what  Holmes  called  his  audacity.  The  "  Poet "  is  a  little 
more  serious  than  his  predecessors;  'but  while  he  is  perceptibly 
inferior  to  them  in  novelty  and  vivacity,  he  is  still  delightful. 
The  volume  contains  in  successive  cantos  "  Wind-Clouds  and 
Star-Drifts,"  Holmes's  longest  and  most  ambitious  poem. 


248  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  This  poem,"  he  says,  "  holds  a  good  deal  of  self-communing, 
and  gave  me  the  opportunity  of  expressing  some  thoughts  and 
feelings  not  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  my  writings."  Shall  we 
accept  the  creeds  of  "  sad-eyed  hermits  "  and  "  angry  con- 
claves "  ? 

"  Ah,  not  from  these  the  listening  soul  can  hear 
The  Father's  voice  that  speaks  itself  divine  ! 
Love  must  be  still  our  Master  ;    till  we  learn 
What  he  can  teach  us  of  a  woman's  heart, 
We  know  not  His,  whose  love  embraces  all." 

Holmes's  two  principal  novels,  "  Elsie  Venner  "  which  ap- 
peared in  1861,  and  "The  Guardian  Angel"  which  appeared  in 
1867,  belong  to  the  class  of  fiction  with  a  purpose.  The  first 
was  designed  to  illustrate  the  effects  of  a  powerful  pre-natal 
influence ;  the  other,  the  law  of  heredity.  They  have  been 
spoken  of,  much  to  the  author's  chagrin,  as  "medicated  novels." 
The  scenes  are  laid  in  New  England,  the  manners  of  which  are 
portrayed  with  graphic  realism.  These  novels  have  been  criti- 
cised as  crude  in  form  ;  but,  in  spite  of  defects  of  plot,  they 
have  been  widely  read.  They  will,  no  doubt,  be  less  read  as 
interest  in  their  main  theme  declines;  but  "The  Guardian 
Angel,"  the  better  of  the  two  books,  will  long  be  deservedly 
popular  for  its  humor  and  wisdom. 

Holmes  did  not  have  much  confidence  in  the  biographer's 
art.  "I  should  like  to  see,"  he  says  in  "The  Poet  at  the  Break- 
fast Table,"  "any  man's  biography  with  corrections  and  emen- 
dations by  his  ghost."  But,  in  spite  of  this  distrust,  he  wrote 
two  popular  biographies,  one  of  Motley,  the  other  of  Emerson. 
Motley  was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends  ;  and  it  was  not 
unnatural,  therefore,  that  the  biography,  which  was  published 
in  1878,  should  bear  somewhat  the  character  of  a  tribute.  His 
temperament  hardly  qualified  him  for  writing  the  life  of  Emer- 
son. He  was  not  inclined  toward  transcendentalism  ;  and,  as 
he  acknowledged,  he  was  "  a  late  comer  as  an  admirer  of  the 
Concord  poet  and  philosopher."  But,  as  in  all  his  writings,  he 
gave  himself  conscientiously  to  the  task.  A  keen  analytical 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES.  249 

spirit  took  the  place  of  a  profound  sympathy.  The  biography, 
which  appeared  in  1884,  is  more  satisfactory  to  the  general 
public  than  to  the  students  of  Emerson.  It  is  interesting,  and 
at  times  brilliant ;  but  somehow  one  feels  the  absence  of  a 
perfectly  sympathetic  treatment. 

In  1882,  after  an  incumbency  of  thirty-five  years,  he  re- 
signed his  professorship.  Four  years  later  he  made  a  visit 
abroad,  spending  nearly  all  his  time  in  England.  He  was 
warmly  received  in  London  society.  "  He  is  enjoying  himself 
immensely,"  wrote  Lowell,  "  and  takes  as  keen  an  interest  in 
everything  as  he  would  have  done  at  twenty.  I  almost  envy 
him  this  freshness  of  genius.  Everybody  is  charmed  with  him, 
as  it  is  natural  they  should  be."  He  was  honored  by  the  uni- 
versities of  Edinburgh,  Cambridge,  and  Oxford  with  degrees. 
The  observations  of  his  brief  stay  abroad  he  embodied  in  "  Our 
Hundred  Days  in  Europe." 

Though  now  considerably  beyond  the  allotted  limit  of  hu- 
man life,  Holmes  did  not  give  up  his  literary  work.  In  addition 
to  the  biography  of  Emerson,  he  wrote  a  third  novel,  "  A  Mortal 
Antipathy,"  which  fell  considerably  below  his  previous  efforts 
in  that  line.  "  Over  the  Teacups,"  a  work  after  the  manner  of 
the  Breakfast  Table  series,  was  written  when  he  had  passed  his 
eightieth  year.  It  possesses  a  pathetic  interest.  The  exube- 
rant wit  and  brilliancy  of  his  earlier  works  are  largely  replaced 
by  the  reminiscent  soberness  of  age.  "  Tea-cups, "  he  said, 
"  are  not  coffee-cups.  They  do  not  hold  so  much.  Their  pal- 
lid infusion  is  but  a  feeble  stimulant  compared  with  the  black 
decoction  served  at  the  morning  board."  Yet  it  was  a  pleasure 
for  him  to  write  ;  it  gave  him  occupation  in  the  loneliness  of 
age,  and  kept  him  in  relation  with  his  fellow-beings.  The  suc- 
cessive papers  were  kindly  received,  a  fact  that  gave  him  great 
satisfaction.  "  Over  the  Teacups  "  contains  "The  Broomstick 
Train,"  a  poem  in  which  the  old-time  fancy  and  lightness  are 
again  apparent.  It  is  not  unworthy  to  be  placed  by  the  side  of 
"  How  the  Old  Horse  won  the  Bet,"  "  Grandmother's  Story  of 
Bunker  Hill  Battle,"  and  other  of  his  best  pieces. 


250  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

But  the  end  was  now  near,  not  unheralded  by  gently  failing 
faculties.  His  last  days  were  made  as  happy  as  possible  by  the 
affectionate  remembrance  and  tender  consideration  of  a  large 
circle  of  friends.  He  was  spared  the  trial  of  protracted  illness. 
He  was  able  to  take  his  usual  walks  up  to  a  few  days  before  his 
death.  He  passed  away  painlessly  in  his  chair,  Oct.  7,  1894. 
Numberless  loving  tributes  were  paid  to  his  memory  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Holmes  was  an  interesting  and  lovable  man,  genial,  bril- 
liant, witty,  and  yet  deeply  earnest  withal.  His  personality  is 
reflected  in  his  books  in  a  rare  degree.  Whatever  the  presid- 
ing genius  at  the  Breakfast  Table  may  be  called,  —  Autocrat, 
Professor,  Poet, — we  know  that  it  is  Holmes  himself  that  is 
speaking. 

"  For  though  he  changes  dress  and  name, 

The  man  beneath  is  still  the  same, 

Laughing  or  sad,  by  fits  and  starts, 

One  actor  in  a  dozen  parts, 

And  whatsoe'er  the  mask  may  be, 

The  voice  assures  us,   This  is  he" 

He  might  be  called  the  most  human  of  our  men  of  letters. 
He  delighted  in  touching  life  at  many  points.  He  had  the  gift 
of  mechanical  ingenuity,  and  always  liked  to  have  something  to 
tinker  at.  He  invented  the  stereoscope,  out  of  which,  had  he 
sought  to  do  so,  he  might  have  made  a  fortune.  He  was  fond 
of  boating ;  and  the  description  he  gives  of  his  fleet  in  the 
"Autocrat"  was  not  all  fiction.  He  was  fond  of  a  good  horse; 
as  he  said,  — 

"  An  easy  gait  —  two,  forty-five  — 

Suits  me  ;  I  do  not  care  ;  — 
Perhaps  for  just  a  single  spurt, 
Some  seconds  less  would  do  no  hurt." 

He  felt  a  broad  sympathy  with  his  fellow-men  ;  and,  as 
he  felt  kindly  towards  them,  he  took  it  for  granted  that  they 
would  be  interested  in  what  he  wrote.  "I  do  not  know,"  he 
said,  "what  special  gifts  have  been  granted  or  denied  me;  but 


OLIVER    WENDELL   HOLMES.  2$  I 

this  I  know,  that  I  am  like  so  many  others  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures, that  when  I  smile,  I  feel  as  if  they  must ;  when  I  cry,  I 
think  their  eyes  fill ;  and  it  always  seems  to  me  that  when 
I  am  most  truly  myself,  I  come  nearest  to  them,  and  am 
surest  being  listened  to  by  the  brothers  and  sisters  of  the 
larger  family  into  which  I  was  born  so  long  ago."  This  broad 
and  tender  sympathy  will  long  give  him  an  uncommon  hold  on 
the  hearts  of  men. 


SECOND   NATIONAL    PERIOD. 


PROMINENT    WRITERS. 

WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS  (born  1837).  Began  as  a  writer  of  verse.  For 
a  number  of  years  editor  of  Atlantic  Monthly.  "The  Undiscovered 
Country,"  "A  Fearful  Responsibility,"  "A  Modern  Instance,"  and 
"  A  Woman's  Reason  "  are  among  his  best  works,  to  which  may  be 
added  a  series  of  farce  dramas,  including  "  The  Mouse  Trap,"  "  The 
Parlor  Car,"  "  The  Register,"  etc. 

HENRY  JAMES  (born  1843).  Critic  and  novelist.  Originated  the  class 
of  fiction  known  as  "  international "  or  "  transatlantic,"  and  a  leader  of 
the  realistic  school  of  novelists.  Author  of  "  Daisy  Miller,"  "  The 
Portrait  of  a  Lady,"  "  The  American,"  "  French  Poets  and  Novel- 
ists," etc. 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN  (born  1833).  Poet  and  critic.  Author 
of  "  The  Doorstep,"  "  Alice  of  Monmouth,"  "  The  Victorian  Poets," 
"  Poets  of  America,"  etc. 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD  (born  1825).  Poet  and  critic.  Anthor  of 
"  The  Late  English  Poets,"  "  Loves  and  Heroines  of  the  Poets,"  "  The 
Dead  Master,"  "  Hymns  to  the  Sea,"  etc. 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  (born  1836).  A  writer  of  interesting  stories 
and  lyric  verse.  Author  of  "  Babie  Bell,"  "  The  Face  Against  the 
Pane,"  and  many  society  poems ;  also  "  The  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy," 
"  Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  People,"  "  Prudence  Palfrey,"  "  Stillwater 
Tragedy,"  etc. 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER  (born  1844).  Editor  of  the  Century,  and 
writer  of  polished  verse.  First  volume  of  poetry,  "  The  New  Day," 
appeared  in  1875,  followed  by  "  The  Celestial  Passion,"  and  "  Lyrics." 

FRANCIS  BRET  HARTE  (born  1838).     Editor,  poet,  and  story-teller  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.     "The  Heathen  Chinee "  acquired  for  its  author 
immediate  fame.      Among  his  numerous  works  may  be  mentioned 
253 


254  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,"  "  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat," 
"  Wiggles,"  "  The  Story  of  a  Mine,"  "  Maruja,  a  Novel,"  etc. 

J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE  (born  1827).  A  popular  novelist  and  poet.  Author 
of  "  Phil  and  His  Friends,"  a  story  for  boys,  "  Laurence's  Adven- 
tures," "  Coupon  Bonds,"  etc.  His  best-known  poems  are  "  The  Vaga- 
bonds," "  The  Charcoal-Man,"  and  "  Farmer  John." 

RICHARD  GRANT  WHITE  (1821-1885).  Shakespearian  critic  and  scholar. 
Author  of  "  Life  of  Shakespeare,"  "  Words  and  their  Uses,"  and 
"Every-Day  English." 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER  (born  1829).  Editor,  critic,  and  essayist  of 
rare  humor  and  critical  acumen.  Has  written  "My  Summer  in  a 
Garden,"  "  Back-Log  Studies,"  "  Being  a  Boy,"  and  other  delightful 
sketches. 

E.  P.   WHIPPLE  (1819-1886).      Lecturer  and  essayist.     Wrote  "Litera- 

ture and  Life,"  "  Character  and  Characteristic  Men,"  "  The  Literature 
of  the  Age  of  Elizabeth,"  etc. 

JOHN  FISKE  (born  1842).  Historian  and  philosopher.  Chief  works 
devoted  to  the  study  of  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  human  race. 
Author  of  "The  Destiny  of  Man,"  "The  Idea  of  God,"  "Outlines 
of  Cosmic  Philosophy,"  etc. 

JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE  (1810-1888).  Unitarian  clergyman.  Author  of 
"  Orthodoxy  :  its  Truths  and  Errors,"  "  Ten  Great  Religions,"  and  many 
other  religious  works  of  great  excellence.  In  collaboration  with  Emerson 
and  Channing  he  prepared  the  "  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli." 

EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE  (born  1822).  Essayist,  lecturer,  historian,  and 
preacher.  Very  active  in  all  movements  of  reform.  Well  known 
abroad  by  his  short  stories,  as  well  as  several  longer  works.  Author 
of  "  The  Man  Without  a  Country,"  "  In  His  Name,"  "  Ten  Times  One 
is  Ten,"  etc. 

FRANK  R.  STOCKTON  (born  1834).  A  humorous  and  original  writer  of 
short  stories.  Author  of  "  The  Lady  or  the  Tiger,"  "  Tales  out  of 
School,"  for  children,  "  Rudder  Grange,"  "  The  Stories  of  the  Three 
Burglars,"  "  The  Hundredth  Man,"  etc. 

F.  MARION  CRAWFORD  (born  1854).     Son  of  an  American  sculptor;  re- 

sides in  Italy.  Our  most  popular  novelist  abroad.  Author  of  "Mr. 
Isaacs,"  "  A  Roman  Singer,"  and  the  Saracinesca  trio,  including  "  Sara- 
cinesca,"  "  Sant'  Ilario,"  and  "  Don  Orsino." 

ROSE  TERRY  COOKE  (born  1827).  Poet  and  story -writer.  Author  of 
"  Happy  Dodd,"  "  Somebody's  Neighbors,"  "  The  Sphinx's  Children 
and  Other  People's,"  "Poems,"  etc. 


SECOND  NATIONAL   PERIOD.  255 

MARGARET  DELAND  (born  1857).  Author  of  "The  Old  Garden  and 
Other  Verses,"  "  John  Ward,  Preacher,"  a  popular  novel  dealing  with 
theological  questions,  "  Philip  and  His  Wife,"  etc. 

FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT  (born  1849).  A  story-writer.  Those  most 
widely  known  are  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's,"  "  A  Fair  Barbarian,"  "  Lit- 
tle Lord  Fauntleroy,"  "  Sara  Crewe,"  "  Editha's  Burglar,"  etc. 

HJALMER  HJORTH  BOYESEN  (1848-1896).  A  writer  of  verse  and  stories 
of  Norwegian  life.  Principal  works  are  "  Gunnar,  a  Norse  Romance," 
"  Falconberg,"  "  Ilka  on  the  Hill-Top,"  etc. 

LEWIS  WALLACE  (born  1827).  Statesman,  soldier,  and  writer  of  thrill- 
ing stories.  Author  of  "  The  Fair  God,"  "  The  Prince  of  India,"  and 
"  Ben-Hur :  A  Tale  of  the  Christ." 

JULIAN  HAWTHORNE  (born  1846).  Son  of  the  great  novelist.  Among 
his  novels  are  "  Garth,"  "  Prince  Saroni's  Wife,"  "  Fortune's  Fool," 
"  Dust,"  etc.  He  has  also  written  "  Confessions  and  Criticisms,"  and 
"  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  His  Wife :  A  Biography." 

EDWARD  PAYSON  ROE  (1838-1887).  Clergyman  and  writer  of  popular 
but  commonplace  novels.  Among  them  may  be  mentioned  "  Open- 
ing a  Chestnut  Burr,"  "  Barriers  Burned  Away,"  "  Nature's  Serial 
Story,"  etc. 

SARAH  ORNE  JEWETT  (born  1849).  Writer  of  stories  treating  chiefly  of 
New  England  life  and  character.  Some  of  her  novels  are  "  Deep- 
haven,"  "  Old  Friends  and  New,"  "  Country  By-Ways,"  "  A  White 
Heron,"  etc. 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS  WARD  (born  1844).  Poet  and  story -writer. 
Among  her  numerous  and  excellent  works  are  "  Men,  Women,  and 
Ghosts,"  "  The  Story  of  Avis,"  "  Old  Maid's  Paradise,"  "  The  Gates 
Ajar,"  "  Beyond  the  Gates,"  etc. 

CONSTANCE  FENIMORE  WOOLSON  (1848-1894).  Grandniece  of  Cooper, 
and  popular  writer  of  stories,  sketches,  and  poems.  Author  of  "  Cas- 
tle Nowhere,"  "  Rodman  the  Keeper,"  "  Anne,"  "  East  Angels,"  etc. 

GEORGE  W.  CABLE  (born  1844).  Writes  of  Creole  life.  Author  of  "Old 
Creole  Days,"  "  Madame  Delphine,"  "  Bonaventure,"  "  The  Grandis- 
simes,"  etc. 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE  (born  1853).  A  popular  writer  of  negro-dialect 
stories.  His  best-known  works  are  "  In  Ole  Virginia,"  "  Two  Little 
Confederates,"  "  Marse  Chan,"  "  Meh  Lady,"  etc. 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS  (born  1848).  Editor,  and  writer  of  negro  folk- 
lore stories,  "  Uncle  Remus :  His  Songs  and  His  Sayings,"  "  Nights 
with  Uncle  Remus,"  "  Free  Joe,"  etc. 


256  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON  (born  1822).  Author  of  "  The  Dukes- 
borough  Tales,"  a  series  of  short  stories  of  Georgia  "  Cracker "  life. 

MARY  NOAILLES  MURFREE  ("CHARLES  EGBERT  CRADDOCK")  (born 
1850).  Writes  of  the  mountaineers  of  Tennessee.  Author  of  "  The 
Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,"  "  In  the  Tennessee  Moun- 
tains," "  In  the  Clouds,"  etc. 

EDWARD  EGGLESTON  (born  1837).  Preacher,  historian,  and  novelist. 
Author  of  "  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster,"  "  The  Hoosier  Schoolboy," 
"  Roxy,"  "  A  History  of  Life  in  the  United  States,"  etc. 

JOHN  BURROUGHS  (born  1837).  Literary  naturalist.  Wrote  "Wake 
Robin,"  "  Winter  Sunshine,"  "  Indoor  Studies,"  etc. 

CHARLES  F.  BROWNE  ("ARTEMUS  WARD")  (1834-1867).  Comic  lec- 
turer, and  author  of  "  Artemus  Ward,  His  Book,"  "  Artemus  Ward  in 
London,"  etc. 

SAMUEL  L.  CLEMENS  ("MARK  TWAIN")  (born  1835).  Humorist  and 
story-writer.  Author  of  "  Innocents  Abroad,"  "  Roughing  It,"  "  A 
Tramp  Abroad,"  "Tom  Sawyer,"  etc. 

HORACE  E.  SCUDDER  (born  1838).  Editor,  and  popular  writer  of  works 
for  children.  Wrote  "  Seven  Little  People,"  "  Dream  Children," 
"  Stories  from  My  Attic,"  "  The  Bodley  Books,"  etc. 

A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY  (born  1824).  Author  of  works  for  young  people,  in- 
cluding "  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life,"  "  Faith  Gartney's 
Girlhood,"  "  We  Girls,"  etc. 

LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT  (1832-1888).  Author  of  "Little  Women,"  "Little 
Men,"  "  An  Old-Fashioned  Girl,"  "  Jack  and  Jill,"  etc. 

EUGENE  FIELD  (1850—1896).  Journalist,  story-writer,  and  poet.  Author 
of  "Culture's  Garden,"  "A  Little  Book  of  Western  Verse,"  "A  Little 
Book  of  Profitable  Tales,"  etc. 

LOUISE  CHANDLER  MOULTON  (born  1835).  Story-writer,  essayist,  and 
poet.  Principal  works  are  "  Bed-Time  Stories,"  for  children,  "  Swal- 
low Flights,  and  Other  Poems,"  "  Juno  Clifford,"  "  Some  Women's 
Hearts,"  etc. 

JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE  (1830-1886).  Soldier,  and  author  of  a  number  of 
romances  founded  on  early  life  in  Virginia  and  on  the  events  of  the 
Civil  War.  Principal  works  are  "  Henry  St.  John,"  "  Surrey  of  Eagle's 
Nest,"  "  Hilt  to  Hilt,"  etc. 

MARY  V.  TERHUNE  ("MARION  HARLAND")  (born  1830).  Editor,  nov- 
elist, and  writer  on  domestic  economy.  Her  novels  include  "  Alone," 
"  Miriam,"  "  Judith,"  etc. 


SECOND   NATIONAL   PERIOD.  2$? 

AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS  (born  1835).  Southern  novelist.  Author  of  "St. 
Elmo,"  "  Beulah,"  "  Vashti,"  etc. 

MARY  A.  DODGE  ("GAIL  HAMILTON")  (1838-1896).  A  writer  of  much 
vigor.  Author  of  "  Woman's  Wrongs,"  "  Gala  Days,"  "  Country  Liv- 
ing," "  A  New  Atmosphere,"  etc. 

ABRAM  J.  RYAN  (1839-1886).  A  Catholic  priest  and  poet.  Author  of  a 
volume  of  "  Poems,"  widely  read  in  the  South. 

CINCINNATUS  HEINE  MILLER  ("  JOAQUIN  MILLER")  (born  1841). 
"  Poet  of  the  Sierras."  Has  written  many  stories,  sketches,  and 
poems,  chiefly  "  Songs  of  the  Sierras,"  and  "  Songs  of  the  Sun  Lands." 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY  (born  1853).  Commonly  known  as  "  The 
Hoosier  Poet,"  his  best  poems  being  written  in  the  Indiana  or  Hoosier 
dialect.  Author  of  "  The  Old  Swimmin'-Hole,"  "  The  Boss  Girl,  and 
Other  Sketches,"  "  Character  ^Sketches  and  Poems,"  etc. 

CHARLES  G.  LELAND  (born  1824).  Author  of  many  books  on  literary 
subjects,  and  a  series  of  studies  in  German-American  dialect  called  the 
"  Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads." 

WILL  CARLETON  (born  1845).  Author  of  "Farm  Ballads,"  "City  Bal- 
lads," "  Farm  Legends,"  and  "  City  Legends."  Best-known  pieces, 
"  The  New  Organ,"  "  Betsey  and  I  are  Out,"  etc. 

SIDNEY  LANIER  (1842-1881).  Critic,  musician,  and  poet.  Author  of 
"  Tiger  Lilies,"  a  novel  of  the  war,  "  The  Science  of  English  Verse," 
"  The  Marshes  of  Glynn,"  "  Sunrise,"  "  Corn,"  etc. 

PAUL  H.  HAYNE  (1831-1886).  "  The  laureate  of  South  Carolina."  Wrote 
"  Face  to  Face,"  "  Love's  Autumn,"  "  Earth's  Odors  After  Rain,"  etc. 

MAURICE  THOMPSON  (born  1844).  Critic,  essayist,  novelist,  and  poet. 
Author  of  "  Songs  of  Fair  Weather,"  "  Sylvan  Secrets,"  "  Byways 
and  Birdnotes,"  "  A  Tallahassee  Girl,"  "  A  Fortnight  of  Folly,"  etc. 

HENRY  TIMROD  (1829-1867).  A  writer  of  war  lyrics,  among  them  "A 
Mother's  Wail,"  and  "  Spring." 

ALICE  GARY  (1820-1870).  A  poet  and  prose  writer.  Author  of  "  Thanks- 
giving," "  Pictures  of  Memory,"  "  The  Bridal  Veil,"  etc. 

PHCEBE  GARY  (1825-1871).  Sister  of  Alice  Gary.  Wrote  many  poems, 
but  is  best  known  as  the  author  of  the  hymn  "  One  Sweetly  Solemn 
Thought." 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON  (1831-1885).  Author  of  "Verses,"  and  several 
delightful  stories,  including  "  Bits  of  Travel,"  "  A  Century  of  Dis- 
honor," and  "  Ramona,"  a  novel  written  in  the  interest  of  the  Indian. 

EMMA  LAZARUS  (1849-1887).  Poet  and  novelist.  Her  most  striking 
work  is  "  The  Dance  to  Death,"  a  drama  representing  the  persecu- 


258  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

tion  of  the  Jews  in  the  twelfth  century.     Also  wrote  "  Songs  of  a 

Semite,"  and  "  Alide,"  a  romance. 
MARGARET  J.  PRESTON.     A  story -writer  and  poet.     Principal  works  are 

"  Silverwood,"  a  novel,  "  Old  Songs  and  New,"  "  Cartoons,"  "  Colo- 
nial Ballads,"  etc. 
LUCY  LARCOM  (1826-1893).     From  a  mill-hand  she  rose  to  be  teacher, 

editor,  and  poet.     Wrote  "  Similitudes,"  "  Childhood  Songs,"  "  Wild 

Roses  from  Cape  Ann,"  etc. 
CELIA  THAXTER  (1836-1894).     Wrote  of  the  sea.     Author  of  "Among 

the  Isles  of  Shoals  "  and  "  Drift- Weed,"  "  Poems  for  Children,"  etc. 
EDITH  M.   THOMAS  (born   1854).     A  popular  poet,  and  contributor  to 

magazines.      Wrote  "A    New   Year's    Masque,  and    Other    Poems," 

"  The  Round  Year,"  and  "  Lyrics  and  Sonnets.' 

There  are  many  other  writers  that  deserve  mention   here ;  but  any 
attempt  at  completeness  would  extend  this  list  too  far. 


V. 

SECOND  NATIONAL   PERIOD, 
(1861-1900.) 

THE  Second  National  Period  begins  with  the  Civil  War, 
and  will  probably  be  terminated  by  important  social  or 
political  changes  in  the  first  half  of  the  twentieth  century. 
The  present  time  is  regarded  by  many  thoughtful  persons 
as  a  period  of  transition.  It  is  felt  that  the  old  order  is 
changing.  What  is  to  follow  as  the  result  of  influences 
now  at  work  cannot  be  clearly  discerned.  But  of  one 
thing  we  may  be  sure,  whatever  changes  may  come  will 
be  in  the  line  of  human  progress.  Humanity  is  slowly 
but  surely  working  its  way  up  to  greater  freedom,  intelli- 
gence, and  goodness. 

As  compared  with  previous  periods,  literature  now  ex- 
hibits a  many-sided  activity.     Its  themes  are  as  varied  as 
the   interests   of   our   race.     Philosophy,  history,  science, 
fiction,   poetry,   are   more  generally   cultivated   than   ever 
before.     The  literature  of  the  present  time  is  character- 
ized by  great  artistic  excellence.     The  prevailing  scientific 
spirit,  rejecting  the  dicta  of  mere  authority,  makes  truth 
I  its  only  criterion.     The  beliefs  and  opinions  of  tradition 
1  are  once  more  put  into  the  crucible.    While  there  are  many 
conflicting  theories  and  creeds,  a  liberal-minded  urbanity 
has  replaced  the  old-time  harshness  and  intolerance.     Our 
literature  at    the   present    time  is   diffusive  and   critical, 
259 


260  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

rather  than  creative  ;  and  thus  it  happens  that,  while  we 
have  many  accomplished  writers,  there  is  no  great  original 
or  dominating  personality  in  American  letters. 

Most  of  the  writers  considered  in  the  previous  period, 
though  they  survived  far  beyond  it,  were  formed  under  the 
influences  prevailing  before  the  Civil  War.  In  every  case 
they  struck  the  key-note  to  their  literary  career  before 
1861.  But  most  of  the  writers  belonging  to  the  present 
period  were  born  since  that  time,  or  were  children  while 
the  great  struggle  was  going  on.  They  have  developed 
their  literary  taste  and  activity  under  the  influences  then 
and  since  existing.  The  Civil  War  itself,  the  dividing 
line  between  the  First  and  Second  National  Periods,  has 
exerted  no  little  influence  upon  our  literature.  In  spite  of 
the  effort  of  self-seeking  and- narrow-minded  politicians  to 
perpetuate  sectional  prejudice,  a  strong  national  feeling 
now  binds  all  parts  of  our  country  together  in  an  indissol- 
uble union.  With  the  abolition  of  slavery  and  the  settle- 
ment of  State  rights,  our  civilization  has  become  more 
homogeneous.  Our  vast  railway  systems  carry  the  life- 
blood  of  trade  and  commerce  to  all  parts  of  our  country. 
Our  people  are  united  as  never  before  in  community  of 
interest,  and  in  patriotic  devotion  to  the  general  welfare. 
These  new  conditions  are  favorable  to  an  expansion  of 
literature,  and  tend  to  give  it  greater  breadth  of  sympathy. 

But  apart  from  its  result  in  laying  a  solid  foundation 
for  national  greatness,  the  Civil  War  directly  occasioned  no 
insignificant  body  of  literature.  Poetry  brought  its  sweet 
ministrations  of  comfort  or  cheer.  In  our  previous  studies 
we  learned  something  of  the  war  poetry  of  Longfellow, 
Lowell,  and  Whittier.  Father  Ryan  may  be  regarded  as 
the  martial  laureate  of  the  South.  "The  Blue  and  the 


SECOND  NATIONAL   PERIOD.  26 1 

Gray,"  by  Francis  M.  Finch,  "  All  Quiet  Along  the  Poto- 
mac," by  Ethel  Beers,  "Dixie,"  by  Albert  Pike,  and  "The 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic,"  by  Julia  Ward  Howe,  are 
lyrics  that  still  have  power  to  move  the  heart.  The  hard- 
ships, dangers,  and  sufferings  of  the  war  have  been  fre- 
quently portrayed  in  novels.  The  period  of  reconstruction 
gave  rise,  as  in  Judge  Tourgee's  "A  Fool's  Errand,"  to 
interesting  and  thrilling  stories.  The  war  called  forth, 
also,  numerous  historical  works.  Apart  from  the  histories 
of  the  war  itself  by  John  W.  Draper,  Horace  Greeley,  John 
S.  C.  Abbott,  Alexander  H.  Stephens,  Jefferson  Davis,  and 
others,  we  have  had  many  biographical  volumes,  among 
which  the  "Memoirs"  of  W.  T.  Sherman,  "Personal  Me- 
moirs "  of  U.  S.  Grant,  and  "  Narrative  of  Military  Opera- 
tions," by  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  deserve  especial  mention. 

During  the  present  period  the  conditions  have  been 
generally  favorable  to  literature.  Our  country  has  con- 
tinued its  marvellous  development.  Its  population  has 
more  than  doubled,  and  great  States  have  been  organized 
in  the  far  West.  Agriculture  and  manufacture  have  been 
developed  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  New  cities  have 
been  founded,  and  many  of  the  older  ones  have  increased 
enormously  in  wealth  and  population.  All  this  has  meant 
an  increase  of  prosperity,  of  leisure,  and  of  culture,  the 
conditions  antecedent  to  a  flourishing  literature. 

Two  great  educative  agencies,  the  press  and  the  school, 
have  kept  pace  with  the  material  progress  of  our  country. 
Every  important  interest  and  every  considerable  commu- 
nity has  its  periodicals.  Our  great  dailies  spread  before 
us  every  morning  the  news  of  the  world.  The  influence 
of  the  newspaper  upon  the  taste,  intelligence,  and  charac- 
ter of  our  people  is  incalculable.  Many  of  our  prominent 


262  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

writers  to-day  have  developed  their  literary  gifts  in  con- 
nection with  journalism.  Our  monthly  magazines  and  re- 
views, unsurpassed  in  tasteful  form  and  literary  excellence, 
have  been  greatly  multiplied.  They  powerfully  stimulate 
literary  activity.  They  are  the  vehicles,  not  only  for  what 
is  most  interesting  in  fiction,  poetry,  and  criticism,  but  also 
for  what  is  best  in  history,  science,  philosophy.  Nowhere 
else,  perhaps,  is  there  a  nation  so  well  informed  as  the 
people  of  the  United  States. 

For  some  decades  the  interest  in  education  has  been 
extraordinary.  The  free-school  system  has  been  extended 
to  every  part  of  our  country.  Graded  and  high  schools 
are  found  in  every  town.  The  number  of  colleges,  many 
of  them  open  to  both  sexes,  has  largely  increased.  The 
courses  of  study  have  been  expanded,  and  brought  into 
closer  relations  with  practical  life.  Some  of  the  older 
institutions,  as  well  as  a  few  new  ones  with  large  en- 
dowment, have  become  in  fact,  as  in  name,  universities. 
Educational  journals  have  been  established  ;  admirable 
text-books  have  been  prepared;  and,  through  the  study 
of  the  history  and  science  of  education,  the  methods  of 
instruction  have  been  greatly  improved. 

The  present  is  an  age  of  close  international  relations. 
Submarine  cables  and  fleet  steamers  bring  the  various 
nations  of  the  earth  close  together.  With  a  clearer 
knowledge  of  one  another,  and  with  the  common  interests 
fostered  by  commerce,  kindlier  feelings  are  developed. 
From  time  to  time  the  civilized  nations  of  the  earth  unite 
in  great  expositions  of  their  choicest  products.  Minor 
international  differences  are  usually  settled  by  diplomacy 
or  arbitration.  Thousands  of  our  people  go  abroad  every 
year  for  pleasure  or  for  study.  A  few  of  our  writers,  as 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD.  263 

Henry  James  and  T.  Marion  Crawford,  make  their  home 
in  England  or  on  the  Continent.  The  modern  languages 
of  Europe  are  widely  studied.  Foreign  books,  either  in 
the  original  or  in  translations,  are  extensively  read.  In 
these  ways  our  literature  is  influenced  by  movements 
abroad,  and  our  culture  assumes  a  cosmopolitan  character. 

The  present  period  is  an  era  of  social  progress.  The 
facilities  of  production  have  greatly  cheapened  the  neces- 
saries of  life.  Wages  have  generally  increased  ;  and  the 
poor,  as  well  as  the  rich,  live  better  than  ever  before. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  there  is  social  unrest.  Many  be- 
lieve that  the  existing  economic  conditions  are  not  final. 
Wasteful  wealth  sometimes  exists  by  the  side  of  starving 
poverty.  Our  gigantic  combinations  of  capital,  which 
often  abuse  their  power  to  wrong  the  people,  are  com- 
monly recognized  as  a  serious  evil.  Great  attention  is 
given  to  the  study  of  economic  and  sociological  questions. 
Along  with  numerous  scientific  treatises,  we  sometimes 
have  presented,  as  in  Bellamy's  "  Looking  Backward,"  a 
new  Utopia  for  our  contemplation. 

Religion  always  exerts  a  strong  influence  upon  litera- 
ture. It  deals  with  the  highest  interests  of  human  life. 
There  are  many  who  regard  religion  as  the  dominant  fac- 
tor in  social  progress.  In  the  past,  as  we  have  seen,  it 
has  been  like  an  atmosphere  to  our  literature.  In  spite 
of  the  scepticism  reflected  in  much  of  our  literature, 
the  religious  life  of  our  people  was  never  deeper  than  it 
is  to-day.  But  Christianity  has  become  practical  rather 
than  dogmatic.  A  spirit  of  reverence,  righteousness,  and 
charity  counts  for  more  than  mere  adherence  to  elaborate 
creeds.  A  sense  of  stewardship  is  leading  to  a  larger 
practical  benevolence.  The  church  is  in  sympathy  with 


264  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

every  movement  to  relieve  the  unfortunate  and  reclaim 
the  lost.  It  proclaims  the  unselfish  love  of  the  gospel  as 
a  solution  of  our  great  social  problems.  No  inconsider- 
able part  of  our  literature  to-day,  both  in  periodicals  and 
in  books,  is  occupied  in  some  way  with  the  discussion  of 
religious  themes. 

In  its  relation  to  literature,  philosophy  is  scarcely  less 
influential  than  religion.  Sometimes,  as  with  Emerson,  it 
is  difficult  to  draw  the  line  between  them.  Philosophy 
seeks  the  fullest  explanation  of  nature  and  of  life.  It  is 
our  way  of  looking  upon  the  world.  We  cannot  fully 
understand' an  author  until  we  know  what  he  thinks  of 
God,  nature,  and  man.  His  fundamental  beliefs  in  these 
three  great  departments  of  human  knowledge  will  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  color  his  thoughts  and  feelings. 
In  America  the  prevailing  philosophy  is  theistic  ;  and  it 
gives  a  pure,  sane,  and  cheerful  tone  to  our  literature, 
which  forms,  in  this  particular,  a  favorable  contrast  with 
much  of  the  current  literature  of  Europe.  Among  the 
far-reaching  influences  recently  introduced  into  science 
and  philosophy  is  the  theory  of  evolution. 

In  fiction  there  has  been  a  notable  reaction  against  the 
romanticism  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  century.  It  is  not 
easy  to  give  a  complete  and  satisfactory  definition  of  ro- 
manticism. Victor  Hugo  says  that  it  is  freedom  in  litera- 
ture. It  presents  what  is  imaginative  or  fantastic,  rather 
than  what  is  real.  It  gives  prominence  to  the  poetic  side 
of  life.  It  aims  at  the  picturesque  in  situation,  thought, 
and  expression.  Its  themes  are  generally  such  as  lend 
themselves  readily  to  idealistic  treatment.  It  deals  largely 
with  the  legendary  tales  and  chivalrous  deeds  of  the  past. 
The  Waverley  novels  are  written  in  the  romantic  spirit, 


SECOND   NATIONAL   PERIOD.  26$ 

and  invest  the  Middle  Ages  with  an  imaginative  beauty. 
In  its  extreme  manifestation,  romanticism  presents  what 
is  unreal,  fantastic,  melodramatic. 

Realism,  as  the  term  indicates,  adheres  to  reality.  It 
is  a  movement  in  keeping  with  the  practical,  scientific 
spirit  of  our  age.  It  begins  with  discarding  what  is  ideal- 
istic or  unreal  in  characters  and  situations.  It  aims  at 
being  true  to  life.  "  For  our  own  part,"  says  W.  D. 
Howells,  the  leader  of  the  realistic  school  of  novelists  in 
America,  "we  confess  that  we  do  not  care  to  judge  any 
work  of  the  imagination  without  first  of  all  applying  this 
test  to  it.  We  must  ask  ourselves,  before  we  ask  anything 
else,  Is  it  true,  —  true  to  the  motives,  the  impulses,  the 
principles,  that  shape  the  life  of  actual  men  and  women  ? " 
For  several  decades  the  best  fiction  of  Christendom  has 
been  dominated  by  the  realistic  spirit.  It  has  given  us 
faithful  studies  of  human  society,  not  as  it  ought  to  be, 
but  as  it  really  is. 

The  three  great  leaders  of  realism  to-day  are  Tolstoi', 
Zola,  and  Ibsen.  They  are  men  of  extraordinary  genius 
and  power,  princes  in  the  realm  of  fiction.  Their  works 
are  widely  read.  Some  of  our  leading  novelists  —  How- 
ells,  James,  Crawford  —  have  been  deeply  influenced  by 
them.  After  acknowledging  his  obligations  to  Zola  and 
Ibsen,  Howells  says  of  Tolstoif :  "  As  much  as  one  merely 
human  being  can  help  another,  I  believe  that  he  has 
helped  me ;  he  has  not  influenced  me  in  aesthetics  only, 
but  in  ethics  too,  so  that  I  can  never  again  see  life  in 
the  way  I  saw  it  before  I  knew  him." 

As  an  effort  truly  to  represent  life  we  must  acknowl- 
edge the  worth  of  realism.  In  its  proper  application,  it 
places  the  novel  on  an  immovable  basis.  It  holds  the 


266  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

mirror  up  to  nature.  Unfortunately,  the  realists  have  not, 
in  many  cases,  been  true  to  their  fundamental  principles. 
The  great  leaders  of  realism  abroad  have  been  tainted 
with  a  fatal  pessimism.  They  have  seen  only  one  side 
of  life  —  the  darker  side  of  sin,  and  wretchedness,  and 
despair.  They  often  descend  to  what  is  coarse,  impure, 
obscene.  No  doubt  their  pictures  are  true,  as  far  as  they 
go.  But  the  fatal  defect  of  their  work  is  that  it  does  not 
reflect  life  as  a  whole.  It  does  not  portray  the  pure  and 
noble  and  happy  side  of  life,  which  is  just  as  real  as  the 
other.  In  this  way,  though  our  American  novelists  have 
largely  avoided  the  mistake,  it  is  possible  for  realism  to 
become  as  false  to  human  life  as  the  wildest  romanticism. 

Except  in  the  hands  of  genius,  realism  is  apt  to  be 
dull.  It  gives  us  tedious  photographs.  There  are  times 
when  we  do  not  care  so  much  for  instruction  as  for  amuse- 
ment and  recreation.  This  fact  opens  a  legitimate  field 
for  the  imaginative  story-teller.  There  is  to-day  a  reac- 
tion against  realism  in  the  form  of  what  has  been  called 
the  new  romanticism.  It  does  not  present  to  us  elaborate 
studies  of  life,  but  entertains  us  with  an  interesting  or 
exciting  story.  The  leaders  of  this  movement  are  the 
English  writers,  Doyle,  Stevenson,  Weyman,  and  Hope, 
whose  works  are  extensively  read  in  this  country. 

During  the  first  third  of  the  present  century  the  lite- 
rary centre  of  our  country  was  in  New  York.  Cooper, 
Irving,  Bryant,  to  say  nothing  of  Drake,  Halleck,  and 
Paulding,  resided  there.  Subsequently  the  centre  was 
changed  to  Boston,  where,  or  in  its  vicinity,  lived  Emer- 
son, Longfellow,  Whittier,  Lowell,  Holmes,  and  others, 
who  have  been  the  chief  glory  of  American  letters. 
These  two  groups  were  successively  dominant  in  our  lit- 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD.  267 

erature.  At  present  the  literary  talent  of  our  country  is 
widely  disseminated.  The  West  and  the  South  have  en- 
tered the  field  as  never  before ;  and  in  recent  years  wri- 
ters like  Bret  Harte,  Joaquin  Miller,  George  W.  Cable, 
Sidney  Lanier,  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  Thomas  Nelson 
Page,  Miss  Murfree,  and  others,  have  won  a  fair  propor- 
tion of  literary  laurels.  Fiction  has  assumed  a  wider 
range.  It  has  been  made  to  illustrate  life  in  every  part 
of  our  broad  land.  It  has  employed  dialectical  peculiari- 
ties to  the  point  of  satiety.  The  patrician  and  old  family 
servant  of  the  days  of  slavery ;  the  Creole  of  Louisiana ; 
the  dwellers  among  the  Tennessee  mountains ;  the  pio- 
neers, miners,  and  adventurers  of  the  West ;  the  fisherman 
of  New  England,  —  all  these,  as  well  as  the  social  life  of 
our  cities,  have  been  graphically  and  faithfully  portrayed. 

Our  literature  has  attained  its  critical  independence. 
In  forming  our  estimate  of  a  work  of  art,  we  no  longer 
anxiously  wait  for  the  European  verdict.  The  multiplica- 
tion of  literary  journals,  as  well  as  the  wide  prevalence  of 
literary  culture,  has  fostered  a  critical  spirit.  Stoddard, 
Stedman,  Whipple,  Howells,  not  to  mention  many  others, 
all  deserve  to  rank  high,  not  only  for  their  achievements 
in  other  departments  of  literature,  but  also  for  their  work 
in  criticism.  In  some  cases,  as  perhaps  with  Poe,  Joaquin 
Miller,  and  Walt  Whitman,  it  has  been  necessary  to  set 
ourselves  against  the  judgment  of  foreign  critics,  who  are 
too  apt  to  accept  what  is  eccentric  or  melodramatic  as 
something  distinctively  American. 

A  noteworthy  feature  of  the  present  period  is  the 
large  number  of  female  writers.  In  both  prose  and  poetry 
they  have  attained  a  high  degree  of  excellence.  The  old 
theory  of  the  intellectual  inferiority  of  woman  has  been 


268  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

I  exploded.  Admitted  to  the  same  educational  advantages 
as  men,  whether  in  separate  or  co-educational  institutions, 
our  young  women  have  proved  themselves  equally  success- 
ful in  study.  They  have  found  an  open  field  in  literature, 
and  have  occupied  it  with  eminent  ability.  Among  those 
who  have  achieved  eminence  are  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps, 
Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  Mary  Noailles  Murfree,  Frances 
Hodgson  Burnett,  Mary  E.  Wilkins,  and  many  others. 

This  has  been  called  the  children's  age.  Never  before 
was  the  responsibility  of  training  children  more  strongly 
felt.  The  rigorous  discipline  of  former  times  has  given 
way  to  a  kindly  and  sympathetic  training.  Our  schools 
are  made  as  attractive  as  possible.  The  methods  of  in- 
struction are  studiously  adjusted  to  child  nature.  The 
text-books  are  interesting  in  matter  and  attractive  in  form. 
Children's  periodicals  are  multiplied,  and  in  many  cases 
are  edited  with  eminent  taste  and  ability.  There  never 
before  was  such  a  wealth  of  literature  for  young  people. 
Our  ablest,  writers  have  not  disdained  to  employ  their 
talents  for  the  entertainment  and  instruction  of  youth. 
Among  the  long  list  of  those  who  have  contributed  to 
our  juvenile  literature  are  J.  T.  Trowbridge,  Mrs.  A.  D.  T. 
Whitney,  Louisa  M.  Alcott,  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  and 
Mrs.  Burnett. 

Americans  have  a  strong  sense  of  humor.  Nowhere 
else  is  a  joke  more  keenly  relished.  Nearly  every  periodi- 
cal, not  excluding  the  religious  weekly,  has  its  column  for 
wit  and  humor ;  and  not  a  few  of  our  papers  are  devoted 
exclusively  to  the  risible  side  of  our  nature.  Among  our 
writers  have  been  a  number  of  humorists.  If  they  have 
not  generally  reached  a  high  refinement  of  wit,  they  have 
nevertheless  brought  the  relief  of  laughter  to  many  a  weary 


SECOND   NATIONAL    PERIOD.  269 

moment.  Charles  Farrar  Browne  ("Artemus  Ward  ")  and 
H.  W.  Shaw  ("Josh  Billings")  may  be  regarded  as  pro- 
fessional humorists.  Among  those  who  have  occupied 
a  higher  plane  is  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  whose  humor 
is  delicate  in  quality,  and  Samuel  L.  Clemens  ("  Mark 
Twain  "),  who  deservedly  ranks  as  our  greatest  humorist. 
Poetry  is  less  prominent  in  our  literature  than  during 
the  reign  of  Longfellow,  Whittier,  and  Lowell.  Since  the 
death  of  the  great  singers  of  the  earlier  part  of  this  cen- 
tury at  home  and  abroad,  no  one  has  risen  to  take  their 
place.  There  is  no  dearth  of  poets,  but  they  belong  to 
the  lower  ranges  of  song.  The  poetry  of  the  present 
time  is  artistic  rather  than  creative,  refined  rather  than 
powerful.  The  present  may  be  regarded  as  an  age  of 
prose.  Fiction  largely  predominates.  But  the  sphere  of 
poetry  is  the  highest  in  literature,  It  is  the  language 
of  seers  ;  and  when  the  fulness  of  time  again  comes,  there 
will  no  doubt  arise  great  singers,  to  give  expression  to  the 
highest  thought  and  noblest  aspirations  of  our  race. 


ILLUSTRATIVE   SELECTIONS 


WITH    NOTES. 


CAPTAIN  SMITH  CAPTURED   BY   THE   INDIANS.      2/3 


I. 
CAPTAIN    SMITH    CAPTURED    BY   THE    INDIANS. 

(From  "  A  True  Relation,"  1608.) 

FORTY  miles  I  passed  up  ye  river,1  which  for  the  most  part  is  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  broad,  and  three  fatham  and  a  half  deep,  exceeding 
osey,2  many  great  low  marshes  and  many  high  lands,  especially  about 
ye  midst  at  a  place  called  Moysonicke,3  a  Peninsule  of  four  miles  cir- 
cuit, betwixt  two  rivers  joyned  to  the  main,  by  a  neck  of  forty  or  fifty 
yards,  and  forty  or  fifty  yards  from  the  high  water  marke.  On  both 
sides  in  the  very  necke  of  the  maine,  are  high  hills  and  dales,  yet 
much  inhabited,  the  lie  declining  in  a  plaine  fertile  corne  field,  the 
lower  end  a  low  marsh ;  more  plentie  of  svvannes,  cranes,  geese, 
duckes,  and  mallards,  and  divers  sorts  of  fowles  none  would  desire : 
more  plaine  fertile  planted  ground,  in  such  great  proportions  as  there 
I  had  not  scene,  of  a  light  blacke  sandy  mould,  the  cliffs  commonly 
red,  white  and  yellowe  colored  sand,  and  under  red  and  white  clay, 
fish  great  plenty,  and  people  abundance,  the  most  of  their  inhabitants 
in  view  of  ye  necke  of  Land,  where  a  better  seate  for  a  town  cannot  be 
desired.  At  the  end  of  forty  miles  this  river  environeth  many  low 
Hands,  at  each  high  water  drowned  for  a  mile,  where  it  uniteth  itselfe, 
at  a  place  called  Apokant,  the  highest  Towne  inhabited.  Ten  miles 
higher  I  discovered  with  the  barge ;  in  the  midway,  a  great  trie  hin- 
dered my  passage,  which  I  cut  in  two :  heere  the  river  became  nar- 
rower, eight,  nine,  or  ten  foote  at  a  high  water,  and  six  or  seven  at  a 
lowe :  the  streame  exceeding  swift  and  the  bottom  hard  channell,  the 
ground  most  part  a  low  plaine,  sandy  soyle ;  this  occasioned  me  to 
suppose  it  might  issue  from  some  lake  or  some  broad  ford,  so  it  could 
not  be  far  to  the  head,  but  rather  then  I  would  endanger  the  barge,  yet 
to  have  been  able  to  resolve  this  doubt,  and  to  discharge  the  imputa- 
tion of  malicious  tungs,  that  halfe  suspected  I  durst  not  for  so  long  de- 
laying, some  of  the  company  as  desirous  as  myselfe,  we  resolved  to 
hire  a  Canowe  and  return  with  the  barge  to  Apokant,  there  to  leave 
the  barge  secure,  and  put  ourselves  uppon  the  adventure :  the  country 


2/4  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

onely  a  vast  and  wilde  wilderness  and  but  onely  that  Towne.  Within 
three  or  foure  mile  we  hired  a  Canowe  and  two  Indians  to  row  us  ye 
next  day  a  fowling :  having  made  such  provision  for  the  barge  as  was 
needful,  I  left  her  there  to  ride,  with  expresse  charge  not  any  to  goe 
ashore  til  my  returne.  Though  some  wise  men  may  condemn  this  too 
bould  attempt  of  too  much  indiscretion,  yet  if  they  well  consider  the 
friendship  of  the  Indians,  in  conducting  me,  the  desolateness  of  the 
country,  the  probabilitie  of  some  lacke,  and  the  malicious  judges  of 
my  actions  at  home,  as  also  to  have  some  matters  of  worth  to  incour- 
age  our  adventurers  in  England,  might  well  have  caused  any  honest 
minde  to  have  done  the  like,  as  well  for  his  owne  discharge  as  for  the 
publike  good.  Having  two  Indians  for  my  guide  and  two  of  our  own 
company,  I  set  forward,  leaving  seven  in  the  barge ;  having  discovered 
twenty  miles  further  in  this  desart,  the  river  still  kept  his  depth  and 
bredth,  but  much  more  combred  with  trees :  here  we  went  ashore 
(being  some  twelve  miles  higher  than  ye  barge  had  bene)  to  refresh 
our  selves,  during  the  boyling  of  our  victuals.  One  of  the  Indians 
I  took  with  me  to  see  the  nature  of  the  soile,  and  to  crosse  the 
boughts4  of  the  river,  the  other  Indian  I  left  with  Mr.  Robinson  and 
Thomas  Emry,  with  their  matches  light5  and  order  to  discharge  a 
peece,  for  my  retreat  at  the  first  sight  of  any  Indian,  but  within  a 
quarter  of  an  houre  I  heard  a  loud  cry  and  a  hollowing  of  Indians,  but 
no  warning  peece.  Supposing  them  surprised,  and  that  the  Indians 
had  betraid  us,  presently  I  seazed  him  and  bound  his  arme  fast  to  my 
hand  in  a  garter,6  with  my  pistoll  ready  bent 7  to  be  revenged  on  him  : 
he  advised  me  to  fly  and  seemed  ignorant  of  what  was  done,  but  as  we 
went  discoursing,  I  was  struck  with  an  arrow  on  the  right  thigh,  but 
without  harme.  Upon  this  occasion  I  espied  two  Indians  drawing 
their  bowes,  which  I  prevented  in  discharging  a  French  pistoll :  by 
that  I  had  charged  againe,  three  or  four  more  did  the  like,  for  the  first 
fell  downe  and  fled:  at  my  discharge  they  did  the  like,  my  hinde8 
I  made  my  barricade,  who  offered  not  to  strive.  Twenty  or  thirty 
arrowes  were  shot  at  me  but  short,  three  or  four  times  I  had  dis- 
charged my  pistoll  ere  the  King  of  Pamaunck  called  Opeckankenough, 
with  two  hundred  men,  environed  me,  cache  drawing  their  bowe, 
which  done  they  laid  them  upon  the  ground,  yet  without  shot,  my 
hinde  treated  betwixt  them  and  me  of  conditions  of  peace,  he  dis- 
covered me  to  be  the  Captaine,  my  request  was  to  retire  to  ye  boate, 
they  demaunded  my  armes,  the  rest  they  saide  were  slaine,  only  me 
they  would  reserve;  the  Indian  importuned  me  not  to  shoot.  In 


CAPTAIN  SMITH  CAPTURED   BY   THE   INDIANS.      2/5 

retiring,  being  in  the  midst  of  a  low  quagmire,  and  minding  them 
more  then  my  steps,  I  stept  fast  into  the  quagmire,  and  also  the  In- 
dian in  drawing  me  forth  :  thus  surprised,  I  resolved  to  trie  their  mer- 
cies, my  armes  I  caste  from  me,  til  which  none  durst  approach  me. 

Being  ceazed  on  me,  they  drew  me  out  and  led  me  to  the  King ;  I 
presented  him  with  a  compasse  diall,  describing  by  my  best  meanes 
the  use  thereof,  whereat  he  so  amazedly  admired,  as  he  suffered  me  to 
proceed  in  a  discourse  of  the  roundnes  of  the  earth,  the  course  of  the 
sunne,  moone,  starres,  and  plannets.9  With  kinde  speeches  and  bread 
he  requited  me,  conducting  me  where  the  Canow  lay  and  John  Robbin- 
son  slaine,  with  twenty  or  thirty  arrowes  in  him.  Emry  I  saw  not, 
I  perceived  by  the  aboundance  of  fires  all  over  the  woods,  at  each  place 
I  expected  when  they  would  execute  me,  yet  they  used  me  with  what 
kindnes  they  could :  approaching  their  Towne,  which  was  within  six. 
miles  where  I  was  taken,  onely  made  as  arbors  and  covered  with  mats, 
which  they  remove  as  occasion  requires :  all  the  women  and  children, 
being  advertised  of  this  accident,  came  foorth  to  meet  them,  the  King 
well  guarded  with  twenty  bowmen,  five  flanck  and  rear,  and  each  flanck 
before  him  a  sword  and  a  peece,  after  him  the  like,  then  a  bowman, 
then  I,  on  each  hande  a  bowman,  the  reste  in  file  in  the  reare.  .  .  . 
On  cache  flanck  a  sargeant,  the  one  running  alwaies  towards  the  front, 
the  other  towards  the  reare,  each  a  true  pace  and  in  exceeding  good 
order.  This  being  a  good  time  continued,  they  caste  themselves  in  a 
ring  with  a  daunce,  and  so  cache  man  departed  to  his  lodging,  the 
Captain  conducting  me  to  his  lodging.  A  quarter  of  Venison  and 
some  ten  pound  of  bread  I  had  for  supper ;  what  I  left  was  reserved 
for  me,  and  sent  with  me  to  my  lodging :  each  morning  three  women 
presented  me  three  greate  platters  of  fine  bread,  more  venison  than 
ten  men  could  devour  I  had ;  my  gowne,  points  I0  and  garters,  my 
compas  and  a  tablet  they  gave  me  againe.  Though  eight  ordinarily 
guarded  me,  I  wanted  not  what  they  could  devise  to  content  me :  and 
still  our  longer  acquaintance  increased  our  better  affection.  Much  they 
threatened  to  assalt  our  forte,  as  they  were  solicited  by  the  King  of 
Paspahegh,  who  shewed  at  our  forte  great  signes  of  sorrow  for  this 
mischance.  .  .  . 

I  desired  he  "  would  send  a  messenger  to  Paspahegh,12  with  a  letter 
I  would  write,  by  which  they  shold  understand  how  kindly  they  used 
me,  and  that  I  was  wel,  least  they  should  revenge  my  death :  this  he 
granted,  and  sent  three  men  in  suclj  weather,  as  in  reason  were  un- 
possible,  by  any  naked  to  be  indured.  Their  cruell  mindes  towards 


276  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

the  fort  I  had  deverted  in  describing  the  ordnances  an<3  the  mines  in 
the  fields,  as  also  the  revenge  Captain  Newport  would  take  of  them, 
at  his  return  ;  their  intent  I  incerted  the  fort,  the  people  of  Ocanahonum 
and  the  back  sea :  '3  this  report  they  after  found  divers  Indians  that 
confirmed.  The  next  day  after  my  letter,  came  a  salvage  to  my  lodg- 
ing, with  his  sword  to  have  slaine  me,  but  being  by  my  guard  inter- 
cepted, with  a  bo  we  and  arrow  he  offred  to  have  effected  his  purpose : 
the  cause  I  knew  not  til  the  King  understanding  thereof  came  and  told 
me  of  a  man  dying,  wounded  with  my  pistoll :  he  told  me  also  of  an- 
other I  had  slayne,  yet  the  most  concealed  they  had  any  hurte :  this 
was  the  father  of  him  I  had  slayne,  whose  fury  to  prevent,  the  King 
presently  conducted  me  to  another  Kingdome,  upon  the  top  of  the 
next  northerly  river,  called  Youghtanan.  .  .  . 

Arriving  at  Weramocomoco,'4  their  Emperour  proudly  lying  uppon 
a  Bedstead  a  foote  high  upon  tenne  or  twelve  Mattes,  richly  hung  with 
many  chaynes  of  great  Pearls  about  his  necke,  and  covered  with  a 
great  covering  of  Rahaughcums :  '5  at  his  heade  sat  a  woman,  at  his 
feete  another,  on  each  side  sitting  uppon  a  Matte  uppon  the  ground 
were  raunged  his  chiefe  men  on  each  side  the  fire,  tenne  in  a  rank, 
and  behinde  them  as  many  young  women,  each  a  great  chaine  of  white 
beades  over  their  shoulders :  their  heades  painted  in  redde,  and  with 
such  a  grave  majesticall  countenance,  as  drave  me  into  admiration  to 
see  such  state  in  a  naked  salvage,  hee  kindly  welcomed  me  with  good 
wordes,  and  great  platters  of  sundrie  victuals,  assuring  me  his  friend- 
ship, and  my  libertie  within  foure  dayes. 


NOTES   TO   CAPTAIN  SMITH  2/7 


NOTES  TO   CAPTAIN   SMITH. 

•  THIS  extract  is  taken  from  "A  True  Relation  of  such  Occurrences  and 
Accidents  of  Noate  as  hath  Hapned  in  Virginia,  since  the  First  Planting  of 
that  Collony,  which  is  now  resident  in  the  South  Part  thereof,  till  the  last 
Returne  from  thence."  It  is  the  earliest  history  of  the  settlement  at  James- 
town, and  the  beginning  of  American  literature.  It  covers  the  brief  period 
between  April  26,  1607,  and  June  2,  1608.  It  was  printed  in  London  in 
small  quarto  form.  There  are  eight  copies  of  the  original  edition  in  America. 
An  inaccurate  reprint  appeared  in  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  February, 
1845.  An  edition  was  edited  by  Mr.  Deane  in  Boston  in  1866. 

The  substance  of  the  "True  Relation"  is  reproduced  in  the  "  Generall 
Historic  of  Virginia,  New  England,  and  the  Summer  Isles  "  (the  third  book), 
which  was  written  in  1624.  The  style  of  the  "  Generall  Historic  "  is  more 
elevated  and  flowing  ;  and  the  lapse  of  sixteen  years  has  served  to  give  to  the 
narrative  something  of  the  enchantment  that  distance  lends  to  the  view. 
While  it  is  not  necessary,  perhaps,  to  believe  in  the  fabrication  of  new  mat- 
ter, it  is  certainly  true  that  the  "  Generall  Historic  "  contains  interesting  state- 
ments not  found  in  the  "True  Relation."  The  romantic  story  of  Pocahontas, 
for  example,  is  found  only  in  the  former;  and  its  absence  from  the  "True 
Relation  "  has  been  regarded  by  some  recent  critics  as  pretty  conclusive  proof 
that  the  incident  was  a  happy  afterthought. 

Except  the  punctuation  and  the  use  of  capital  letters,  which  it  was  thought 
better  not  to  follow  closely,  the  extract  given  for  study  is  a  reproduction  of 
the  original,  and  will  therefore  serve  as  a  specimen  of  English  prose  at  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century.  As  will  be  noticed,  there  is  a  consid- 
erable lack  of  uniformity  in  the  spelling.  This  is  attributable  less  to  Smith's 
carelessness  or  ignorance  than  to  the  unfixed  state  of  the  English  language. 
When  he  wrote  the  "  True  Relation,"  no  dictionary  of  the  language  had  yet 
appeared,  the  first  being  published  in  1623. 

1.  Ye  river.  — The  letter  y  in  ye  is  used  for  the  Anglo-Saxon  character 
representing  the  sound  //*,  and  in  the  Middle  Ages,  as  well  as  at  the  beginning 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  had  the  same  sound.     Smith  uses  both  forms  of 
the  definite  article,^  and  the.     The  river  in  question  is  the  Chickahominy, 
which,  in  the   "True   Relation,"  appears  as  Checka  Hamania,  and  in  the 
"Generall  Historic"  as  the   Chickahamania. 

2.  Osey  =  oozy.     A.  S.  was  ;  the  word  has  lost  its  initial  w. 

3.  All  the  places  named  in  the  narrative  are  given  in  Smith's  well-known 


2/8  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

map  of  Virginia.     Considering  the  difficulties  attending  his  explorations,  the 
accuracy  of  his  map  is  remarkable. 

4.  Boughts  =  bends,  turnings.     Also  spelled  bout.    In  Milton,  we  find:  — 

"  In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out." 

D  Allegro,  139. 
But  in  Spenser,  speaking  of  the  Monster  Error :  — 

"  Her  huge  long  taile  her  den  all  overspred, 
Yet  was  in  knots  and  many  boughtes  upwound." 

Faery  Queene,  I.  xv 

5.  Light  =  lighted.     "  About  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VII. 
the  hand-gun  was  improved  by  the  addition  of  a  cock,  which  was  brought 
down  by  a  trigger  to  a  pan  at  the  side  of  the  barrel ;  this  cock  held  a  match 
which  ignited  a  priming  in  the  pan,  the  priming  communicating  with  the 
charge  by  a  small  hole."     This  was  the  matchlock,  and  continued  in  use  till 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  when  it  was  replaced  by  the  flintlock. 

6.  In  a  garter  =  "  with  his  garters,"  as  stated  in  the  "  Generall  His- 
toric." 

7.  Bent  =  cocked. 

8.  Hinde  =  servant.     The  </is  excrescent;   from  A.  S.  hina,  a  domestic. 

9.  In  the  "  Generall  Historic  "  we  have  the  following  version,  which  is 
given  to  show  the  difference  of  style  between  the  two  works  :   "Then  finding 
the  Captaine,  as  is  said,  that  used  the  salvage  that  was  his  guide  as  his  sheld, 
(three  of  them  being  slaine  and  divers  other  so  gauld,)  all  the  rest  would 
not  come  neere  him.     Thinking  thus  to  have  returned  to  his  boat,  regarding 
them,  as  he  marched,  more  then  his  way,  slipped  up  to  the  middle  in  an  oasie 
creeke,  and  his  salvage  with  him,  yet  durst  they  not  come  to  him  till  being 
neere  dead  with  cold,  he  threw  away  his  armes.     Then  according  to  their  com- 
position they  drew  him  forth  and  led  him  to  the  fire,  where  his  men  were 
slaine.     Diligently  they  chafed  his  benummed   limbs.     He  demanding  for 
their  Captaine,  they  shewed  him  Opechankanough,  King  of  Pamaunkee,  to 
whom  he  gave  a  round  ivory  double  compass  dyall.     Much  they  marvailed  at 
the  playing  of  the  fly  and  needle,  which  they  could  see  so  plainely,  and  yet 
not  touch  it,  because  of  the  glasse  that  covered  them.     But  when  he  demon- 
strated by  that  globe-like  Jewell  the  roundnesse  of  the  earth,  and  skies,  the 
spheare  of  the  sunne,  moone,  and  starres,  and  how  the  sunne  did  chase  the 
night  round  about  the  world  continually  ;   the  greatnesse  of  the  land  and  see, 
the  diversitie  of  nations,  varietie  of  complexions,  and  how  we  were  to  them 
Antipodes,  and  many  other  such  like  matters,  they  all  stood  as  amazed  with 
admiration.     Notwithstanding,  within  an  houre  after  they  tyed  him  to  a  tree, 
and  as  many  as  could  stand  about  him  prepared  to  shoot  him,  but  the  King 


NOTES   TO   CAPTAIN  SMITH.  279 

holding  up  the  compass  in  his  hand,  they  all  laid  downe  their  bowes  and 
arrowes,  and  in  a  triumphant  manner  led  him  to  Orafaks,  where  he  was  after 
their  manner  kindly  feasted  and  well  used." 

At  the  time  of  this  occurrence,  Smith  had  been  in  Virginia  about  eight 
months.  Considering,  then,  his  very  slender  attainments  in  the  Indian  lan- 
guage, we  may  well  doubt  whether  he  succeeded,  in  an  hour,  in  making  his 
astronomy,  geography,  and  ethnography  very  intelligible  to  his  savage 
auditors. 

10.  Points  =  "  A  tagged  lace,  used  to  tie  together  certain  parts  of  the 
dress."  — WEBSTER. 

11.  He  =  King  Opechancanough. 

12.  —  "  Yet  according  to  his  request  they  went  to  James  Towne."  —  Gen- 
erall  Historie. 

13.  — This  refers  to  information  given  by  Opechancanough.     "  The  Kinge 
tooke  greate  delight  in  understanding  the  manner  of  our  ships  and  sayling  the 
seas,  and  of  our  God  ;   what  he  knew  of  the  dominions  he  spared  not  to  ac- 
quaint me  with,  as  of  certaine  men  cloathed  at  a  place  called  Ocanahonan, 
cloathed  like  me,  the  course  of  our  river,  and  that  within  four  or  five  daies 
journey  of  the  falles  was  a  great  turning  of  salt  water." 

14.  — Situated  on  York  river,  about  twelve  miles  from  Jamestown. 

15.  In  the  "  Generall  Historie  "  spelled  Rarowcun  =  raccoon.    The  ety- 
mology of  raccoon  in  Webster  and  Skeat  fails  to  give  the  Indian  origin  of  the 
word  ;   it  is  found,  however,  in  "The  Century  Dictionary  "  and  "The  Stan- 
dard Dictionary." 


280  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 


II. 
MATHER'S    MAGNALIA   CHRISTI. 


CHAPTER   II. 

PRIMORDIA  ; J  OR,  THE  VOYAGE  TO  NEW  ENGLAND,  WHICH  PRODUCED 
THE  FIRST  SETTLEMENT  OF  NEW  PLYMOUTH  ;  WITH  AN  ACCOUNT 
OF  MANY  REMARKABLE  AND  MEMORABLE  PROVIDENCES  RELAT- 
ING TO  THAT  VOYAGE. 

§  i.  A  NUMBER  of  devout  and  serious  Christians  in  the  English 
nation,  finding  the  Reformation  of  the  Church2  in  that  nation,  accord- 
ing to  the  WORD  OF  GOD,3  and  the  design  of  many  among  the  first 
Reformers,  to  labour  under  a  sort  of  hopeless  retardation  ;*  they  did, 
Anno  1602,  in  the  north  of  England,5  enter  into  a  COVENANT,  wherein 
expressing  themselves  desirous,  not  only  to  attend  the  worship  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  with  a  freedom  from  humane  6  inventions  and  addi- 
tions? but  also  to  enjoy  all  the  Evangelical  Institutions  of  that  wor- 
ship, they  did  like  those  Macedonians,  that  are  therefore  by  the 
Apostle  Paul  commended,  "give  themselves  up,  first  unto  God,  and 
then  to  one  another."8  These  pious  people  finding  that  their  breth- 
ren and  neighbors  in  the  Church  of  England,  as  then  established  by 
law,  took  offense  at  these  their  endeavors  after  a  scriptural  reforma- 
tion;  and  being  loth  to  live  in  the  continual  vexations  which  they  felt 
arising  from  their  non-conformity9  to  things  which  their  consciences 
accounted  superstitions  and  unwarrantable,  they  peaceably  and  will- 
ingly embraced  a  banishment  into  the  Netherlands  ;  where  they  settled 
at  the  city  of  Leyden,10  about  seven  or  eight  years  after  their  first 
combination.  And  now  in  that  city  this  people"  sojourned,  an  holy 
CHURCH  of  the  blessed  JESUS,  for  several  years  under  the  pastoral 
care  of  Mr.  John  Robinson,12  who  had  for  his  help  in  the  government 
of  the  Church,  a  most  wise,  grave,  good  man,  Mr.  William  Brewster,1-5 
the  ruling  elder.  IndeeH,  Mr.  John  Robinson  had  been  in  his  younger 


MATHER'S  MAGNALIA    CHRISTI.  28 1 

time  (as  very  good  fruit  hath  sometimes  been,  before  age  hath  ripened 
it)  scrwred  with  the  principles  of  the  most  rigid  separation,  in  the 
maintaining  whereof  he  composed  and  published  some  little  Treatises, 
and  in  the  management  of  the  controversie  made  no  scruple  to  call  the 
incomparable  Dr.  Ames  I4  himself,  Dr.  Amiss,  for  opposing  such  a 
degree  of  separation.  But  this  worthy  man  suffered  himself  at  length 
to  be  so  far  convinced  by  his  learned  antagonist  that  with  a  most  in- 
genious retractation,  he  afterwards  writ  a  little  book  to  prove  the  law- 
fulness of  one  thing,  which  his  mistaken  zeal  had  formerly  impugned 
several  years,  even  till  1625,  and  about  the  fiftieth  year  of  his  own 
age,  continued  he  a  blessing  unto  the  whole  Church  of  God,  and 
at  last,  when  he  died,  he  left  behind  him  in  his  immortal  writings, 
a  name  very  much  embalmed  among  the  people  that  are  best  able 
to  judge  of  merit ;  and  even  among  such,  as  about  the  matters  of 
Church-discipline,  were  not  of  his  perswasion.  Of  such  an  eminent 
character  was  he,  while  he  lived,  that  when  Arminianism  's  so  much 
prevailed,  as  it  then  did  in  the  low  countries,  those  famous  divines, 
Polyander  and  Festus  Hommius,  employed  this  our  learned  Robinson 
to  dispute  publickly  in  the  University  of  Leyden  against  Episcopius,'6 
and  the  other  champions  of  that  grand  choak-weed  of  true  Christian- 
ity :  and  when  he  died,  not  only  the  University,  and  Ministers  of  the 
city,  accompanied  him  to  his  grave,  with  all  their  accustomed  solemni- 
ties, but  some  of  the  chief  among  them  with  sorrowful  resentments 
and  expressions  affirmed,  "  That  all  the  Churches  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  had  sustained  a  great  loss  by  the  death  of  this  worthy  man." 

§  2.  The  English  Church  had  not  been  very  long  at  Leyden,  before 
they  found  themselves  encountered  with  many  inconveniences.  They 
felt  that  they  were  neither  for  health,  nor  purse,  nor  language  well  ac- 
commodated ;  but  the  concern  which  they  most  of  all  had,  was  for  their 
posterity.  They  saw,  that  whatever  banks  the  Dutch  had,  against  the 
inroads  of  the  sea,  they  had  not  sufficient  ones  against  *  flood  of  mani- 
fold profaneness.  They  could  not  with  ten  years'  endeavor  bring  their 
neighbors  particularly  to  any  suitable  observation  of  the  LORD'S  DAY  ;  I? 
without  which  they  knew  that  all  practical  Religion  must  wither  miser- 
ably. They  beheld  some  of  their  children,  by  the  temptations  of  the 
place,  which  were  especially  given  in  the  licentious  ways  of  many  young 
people,  drawn  into  dangerous  extravagancies.  Moreover,  they  were 
very  loth  to  lose  their  interest  in  the  English  nation  ;  but  were  desirous 
rather  to  enlarge  their  King's  dominions.  They  found  themselves  also 
under  a  very  strong  disposition  of  zeal,  to  attempt  the  establishment  of 


282  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

CONGREGATIONAL  CHURCHES  l8  in  the  remote  parts  of  the  world ;  where 
they  hoped  they  should  be  reached  by  the  royal  influence  of  their 
Prince,  in  whose  allegiance  they  chose  to  live  and  die ;  at  the  same 
time  likewise  hoping  that  the  Ecclesiasticks,  who  had  thus  driven 
them  out  of  the  kingdom  into  a  New  World,  for  nothing  in  the  world 
but  their  non-conformity  to  certain  rites,  by  the  imposers  confessed 
indifferent  ^  would  be  ashamed  ever  to  persecute  them  with  any 
further  molestations,  at  the  distance  of  a  thousand  leagues.  These 
reasons  were  deeply  considered  by  the  Church ;  and  after  many  delib- 
erations, accompanied  with  the  most  solemn  humiliations  and  sup- 
plications before  the  God  of  Heaven,  they  took  up  a  resolution,  under 
the  conduct  of  Heaven,  to  REMOVE  into  AMERICA  ;  the  opened  regions 
whereof  had  now  filled  all  Europe  with  reports.  It  was  resolved,  that 
part  of  the  Church  should  go  before  their  brethren,  to  prepare  a  place 
for  the  rest ;  and  whereas  the  minor  part  of  younger  and  stronger  men 
were  to  go  first,  the  Pastor  was  to  stay  with  the  major,  till  they  should 
see  cause  to  follow.  Nor  was  there  any  occasion  for  this  resolve,  in 
any  weariness  which  the  States  of  Holland  had  of  their  company,  as 
was  basely  whispered  by  their  adversaries ;  therein  like  those  who  of 
old  assigned  the  same  cause  for  the  departure  of  the  Israelites  out 
Egypt :  for  the  magistrates  of  Leyden  in  their  Court,  reproving  the 
Walloons,20  gave  this  testimony  for  our  English:  "These  have  lived 
now  ten  years  among  us,  and  yet  we  never  had  any  accusation  against 
any  one  of  them  ;  whereas  your  quarrels  are  continual." 

§  3.  These  good  people  were  now  satisfyed,  they  had  as  plain  a 
command  of  Heaven  to  attempt  a  removal,  as  ever  their  father  Abra- 
ham had  for  his  leaving  the  Caldean  territories;21  and  it  was  nothing 
but  such  a  satisfaction  that  could  have  carried  them  through  such, 
otherwise  insuperable  difficulties,  as  they  met  withal.  But  in  this 
removal  the  terminus  ad  quern22  was  not  yet  resolved  upon.  The 
country  of  Guiana  flattered  them  with  the  promises  of  a  perpetual 
Spring,  and  a  thousand  other  comfortable  entertainments.  But  the 
probable  disagreement  of  so  torrid?*,  climate  unto  English  bodies,  and 
the  more  dangerous  vicinity  of  the  Spaniards  to  that  climate,  were 
considerations  which  made  them  fear  that  country  would  be  too  hot 
for  them.  They  rather  propounded  some  country  bordering  upon 
Virginia;  and  unto  this  purpose,  they  sent  over  agents  into  England, 
who  so  far  treated  not  only  with  the  Virginia  company,  but  with  sev- 
eral great  persons  about  the  Court ;  unto  whom  they  made  evident 
their  agreement  with  the  French  Reformed  Churches  in  all  tilings 


MATHER'S  MAGNALIA  CHRISTI.  283 

-whatsoever,  except  in  a  few  small  accidental  points;  that  at  last,  after 
many  tedious  delays,  and  after  the  loss  of  many  friends  and  hopes  in 
those  delays,  they  obtained  a  Patent  for  a  quiet  settlement  in  those 
territories  ;  and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  himself  gave  them  some 
expectations  that  they  should  never  be  disturbed  in  that  exercise  of 
Religion,  at  which  they  aimed  in  their  settlement;  yea,  when  Sir 
Robert  Nanton,  then  principal  Secretary  of  State  unto  King  James, 
moved  his  Majesty  to  give  away  "  that  such  a  people  might  enjoy  their 
liberty  of  conscience  under  his  gracious  protection  in  America,  where 
they  would  endeavor  the  advancement  of  his  Majesty's  dominions,  and 
the  enlargement  of  the  interests  of  the  Gospel;  "  the  King  said,  "  It 
was  a  good  and  honest  motion."  All  this  notwithstanding,  they  never 
made  use  of  that  Patent :  but  being  informed  of  New  England,  thither 
they  diverted  their  design,  thereto  induced  by  sundry  reasons ;  but 
particularly  by  this,  that  the  coast  being  extremely  well  circumstanced 
forjishing,  they  might  therein  have  some  immediate  assistance  against 
the  hardships  of  their  first  encounters.  Their  agents  then  again  sent 
over  to  England  concluded  articles  between  them  and  such  adven- 
turers as  would  be  concerned  with  them  in  their  present  undertakings 
—  articles  that  were  indeed  sufficiently  hard221  for  those  poor  men  that 
were  now  to  transplant  themselves  into  an  horrid  wilderness.  The 
diversion  of  their  enterprise  from  the  first  state  and  way  of  it,  caused  an 
unhappy  division  among  those  that  should  have  encouraged  it ;  and 
many  of  them  hereupon  fell  off.  But  the  Removers  having  already 
sold  their  estates,  to  put  the  money  into  a  common  stock,2*  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  whole;  and  their  stock  as  well  as  their  time  spending  so  fast 
as  to  threaten  them  with  an  army  of  straits,  if  they  delayed  any  longer : 
they  nimbly  dispatched  the  best  agreements  they  could,  and  came 
away  furnished  with  a  Resolution  for  a  large  Tract  of  Land  in  the 
southwest  part  of  New  England. 

§  4.  All  things  being  now  in  some  readiness,  and  a  couple  of 
ships,  one  called  The  Speedwell,  the  other  The  May-Flower,  being 
hired  for  their  transportation,  they  solemnly  set  apart  a  day  for  fasting 
and  prayer;  wherein  their  Pastor  preached  unto  them  upon  Ezra  viii. 
21  :  "I  proclaimed  a  fast  there,  at  the  river  Ahava,  that  we  might 
afflict  ourselves  before  our  God,  to  seek  of  him  a  right  way  for  us,  and 
for  our  little  ones,  and  for  all  our  substance." 

After  the  fervent  supplications  of  this  day,  accompanied  by  their 
affectionate  friends,  they  took  their  leave  of  the  pleasant  city,  where 
they  had  been  pilgrims  and  strangers  now  for  eleven  years.  Delft- 


284  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Haven25  was  the  town  where  they  went  on  board  one  of  their  ships, 
and  there  they  had  such  a  mournful  parting  from  their  brethren,  as 
even  drowned  the  Dutch  spectators  themselves,  then  standing  on  the 
shore,  in  tears.  Their  excellent  Pastor,  on  his  knees,  by  the  sea-side, 
poured  out  their  mutual  petitions  unto  God ;  and  having  wept  in  one 
another's  arms,  as  long  as  the  wind  and  the  tide  would  permit  them, 
they  bad  adieu.  So  sailing  to  Southampton  in  England,  they  there 
found  the  other  of  their  ships  come  from  London,  with  the  rest  of 
their  friends  that  were  to  be  the  companions  of  the  voyage.  Let  my 
reader  place  the  chronology  of  this  business  on  July  2,  1620.  And 
know,  that  the  faithful  Pastor  of  this  people  immediately  sent  after 
them  a  pastoral  letter ;  a  letter  filled  with  holy  counsels  unto  them, 
to  settle  their  peace  with  God  in  their  own  consciences,  by  an  exact 
repentance  of  all  sin  whatsoever,  that  so  they  might  more  easily  bear 
all  the  difficulties  that  were  now  before  them ;  and  then  to  maintain  a 
good  peace  with  one  another,  and  beware  of  giving  or  taking  offences; 
and  avoid  all  discoveries  of  a  touchy  humour ;  but  use  much  brotherly 
forbearance  (where  by  the  way  he  had  this  remarkable  observation : 
"  In  my  own  experience  few  or  none  have  been  found  that  sooner  give 
offence,  than  those  that  easily  take  it ;  neither  have  they  ever  proved 
sound  and  profitable  members  of  societies  who  have  nourished  this 
touchy  humour ") ;  as  also  to  take  heed  of  a  private  spirit,  and  all 
retiredness  of  mind  in  each  man,  for  his  own  proper  advantage ;  and 
likewise  to  be  careful,  that  the  house  of  God,  which  they  were,  might 
not  be  sr  .ken  with  unnecessary  novelties  or  oppositions ;  which  LET- 
TER afte  wards  produced  most  happy  fruits  among  them. 

§  5.  On  August  5,  1620,  they  set  sail  from  Southampton;  but  if  it 
shall,  as  I  believe  it  will,  afflict  my  reader  to  be  told  what  heart-break- 
ing disasters  befell  them,  in  the  very  beginning  of  their  undertaking, 
let  him  glorifie  God,  who  carried  them  so  well  through  their  greater 
affliction. 

They  were  by  bad  weather  twice  beaten  back,  before  they  came  to 
the  Land's  end.  But  it  was  judged,  that  the  badness  of  the  weather 
did  not  retard  them  so  much  as  the  deceit  of  a  master,  who,  grown 
sick  of  the  voyage,  made  such  pretences  about  the  leakiness  of  his 
vessel,  that  they  were  forced  at  last  wholly  to  dismiss  that  lesser  ship 
from  the  service.  Being  now  all26  stowed  into  one  ship,  on  the  sixth 
of  September  they  put  to  sea ;  but  they  met  with  such  terrible  storms, 
that  the  principal  persons  on  board  had  serious  deliberations  upon 
returning  home  again  ;  however,  after  long  beating  upon  the  Atlantick 


MATHER'S  MAGNALIA    CIIKISTI.  285 

ocean,  they  fell  in  with  the  land  at  Cape  Cod,  about  the  ninth  of  No- 
vember following,  where  going  on  shore  they  fell  upon  their  knees, 
with  many  and  hearty  praises  unto  God,  who  had  been  their  assu- 
rance, when  they  were  afar  off  upon  tlie  sea,  and  was  to  be  further  so, 
now  that  they  were  come  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

But  why  at  this  Cape?  Here  was  not  the  port  which  they  in- 
tended :  this  was  not  the  land  for  which  they  had  provided.  There 
was  indeed  a  most  wonderful  providence  of  God,  over  a  pious  and  a 
praying  people,  in  this  disappointment !  The  most  crooked  ivay  that 
ever  was  gone,  even  that  of  Israel's  peregrination  through  the  wilder- 
ness, may  be  called  a  right  way,  such  was  the  way  of  this  little  Israel, 
now  going  into  a  wilderness. 


286  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES  TO   MAGNALIA   CHRISTI. 

THE  extract  for  special  study  is  from  the  second  chapter  of  the  first  book 
of  the  "  Magnalia  Christi."  Both  the  original  edition  of  1702  (Thomas 
Parkhurst,  London)  and  the  reprint  of  1853  (Silas  Andrus  &  Son,  Hartford) 
have  been  used.  The  editor  of  the  latter  edition  says:  "The  author's  lan- 
guage is  peculiarly  his  own.  In  the  rapidity  of  his  manner,  he  could  pay  but 
little  attention  to  style."  The  justice  of  this  observation  will  be  apparent 
from  a  consideration  of  the  first  few  sentences.  The  orthography  and  Italics 
of  the  original  have  been  retained. 

1.  Primordia  =  the  earliest  beginnings,  or  primitive  history. 

2.  The  Reformation  in  England  was  begun  by  Henry  VIII.,  and  firmly 
established  by  Elizabeth.     The  Act  of  Supremacy,  declaring  the  king  to  be 
the  "only  supreme  head  on  earth  of  the  Church  of  England,"  was  passed  in 
I535-     This  may  be  regarded  as  the  beginning  of  the  Reformation. 

3.  The  rallying  point  of  the  Reformers  of  the  sixteenth  century  was  "  the 
Word  of  God."     In  opposition  to  the  authority  of  tradition  and  of  the  Pope, 
they  laid  down  the  principle  that  "the  Scriptures  are  the  only  rule  of  faith 
and   practice   in   religion."      The    Puritans   maintained   that    the   Anglican 
Church,  instead  of  returning  to  the  simplicity  of  the  primitive  church,  re- 
tained too  many  ceremonies  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.     The  Puritans 
were  so  called  because  they  urged,  as  they  claimed,  a  purer  worship. 

4.  The  Act  of  Uniformity,  which  required  that  all  public  worship  be  con- 
ducted according  to  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  was  passed  in  1559.      It 
was  enforced  by  Elizabeth  with  great  rigor,  the  penalty  for  a  third  violation 
being  imprisonment  for  life.     Under  these  circumstances  the  Reformation, 
from  the  Puritan  standpoint,  indeed  suffered  a  "  hopeless  retardation." 

5.  The  covenant  in  question  was  formed  at  the  village  of  Scrooby  in 
Nottinghamshire. 

6.  This  is  the  old  spelling  of  human,  which  comes  to  us  through  the 
French,     ffumune,  which  has  the  accent  on  the  last  syllable,  comes  directly 
from  the  Latin  humanus. 

7.  By  human  "inventions  and  additions"  are  meant  the  clerical  vest- 
ments and  elaborate  liturgy  of  the  Anglican  Church. 

8.  A  free  reference  to  2  Cor.  viii.  5  :    "  And  this  they  did,  not  as  we  hoped, 
but  first  gave  their  own  selves  to  the  Lord,  and  unto  us  by  the  will  of  God." 

9.  The  Puritans  refused,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  to  wear  clerical  vest- 


NOTES   TO  MAGNALIA    CHRISTI.  287 

merits  and  to  use  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  in  public  worship.  This  was 
a  violation  of  the  Act  of  Uniformity,  and  hence  they  were  called  Non- 
conformists. It  is  estimated  that  in  1604  there  were  more  than  fifteen 
hundred  Nonconformist  clergymen  in  England  and  Wales. 

10.  Leyden  was  at  this  time  the  chief  manufacturing  city  of  the  Nether- 
lands, with  a  population  of  fully  70,000. 

11.  It  is  estimated  that* there  were  nearly  three  hundred  adult  persons 
belonging  to  the  congregation. 

12.  John   Robinson  (1575-1625)   was  educated  at  Cambridge,  held  a 
benefice  in  Norfolk,  was   suspended  for   nonconformity,   and  then    formed 
a  congregation  of  Independents.     A  man  of  strong  faith,  excellent  scholar- 
ship, and  great  ability,  he  deserved  the  praise  bestowed  upon  him  by  Mather. 

13.  William  Brewster  (1560-1644)  was  the  most  considerable  lay  mem- 
ber of   the    congregation    immigrating    to    Holland.      He   supported   himself 
there  by  teaching   English.      He  is  generally  known  in   history  as  Elder 
Brewster,  from  the  office  he  held  in  the  church. 

14.  William  Ames,  D.D.  (1576-1633),  was  an  independent  theologian 
of  England,  and  fellow  of  Christ  College,  Cambridge.     He  left  England  in 
the  reign  of  James  I.  to  escape  persecution,  and  became  minister  of  the  Eng- 
lish church  at  The  Hague.     He  was  at  Rotterdam,  expecting  to  sail  to  Amer- 
ica, when  his  death  occurred. 

15.  By  Arminianism   is  meant   the    peculiar    doctrines   of   Arminius,  a 
learned  theologian  of  Holland.     He  was  born  in  1560,  and  died  in  1609.     His 
teachings  may  be  summarized  as  follows  :    "  I,  God  elects  men  to  salvation  on 
the  basis  of  foreseen  faith  ;    2,  Christ  died  for  all  men,  but  only  believers 
partake  of  the  universal  redemption  ;    3,  Man,  in  order  truly  to  believe,  must 
be  regenerated   by  the  Holy  Spirit  ;    4,  The  grace,  by  which  true  faith  is 
effected,  is  not  irresistible  ;    5,  Men  may  fall  away  from  a  state  of  grace." 
The  doctrines  of  Arminius,  which  are  now  widespread  in  various  parts  of  the 
Christian  church,  were  condemned  by  the  Synod  of  Dort. 

16.  Simon  Episcopius  (his  Dutch  name  was  Bisschop)  was  born  at  Am- 
sterdam in  1583  and  died  in  1643.     He  became  the  leader  of  the  Arminian 
party  after  the  death  of  Arminius.     After  the  Synod  of  Dort  in  1618,  he  was 
banished  from  Holland,  but  returned  in    1626  to  Amsterdam,  where  he  be- 
came a  professor  of  theology  in  the  Arminian  College  there. 

17.  The  Puritans  transferred  to  the  Christian  Lord's  day  the  rigorous 
laws  of  the  old  Jewish  Sabbath.     This  transference  has  never  been  extensively 
sanctioned  on  the  Continent,  where  indeed,  as  many  believe,  the  tendency  has 
been  to  the  opposite  extreme. 

18.  Congregationalism  is  that  form  of  church  government  which  rests  all 
ecclesiastical   power   in    the    assembled    brotherhood    of    each    local   church. 
Hence,  it  is  opposed  to  the  episcopal  system  of  church  government. 


288  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

19.  "The    principle  upon   which  the  bishops   justified  their   severities 
against  the  Puritans  was  the  subjects'  obligation  to  obey  the  laws  of  their 
country  in  all  things  indifferent,  which  are  neither  commanded  nor  forbidden 
by  the  laws  of  God."— Neal's  Puritans,  Vol.  I.,  p.  79.     To  the  Puritans, 
however,  they  were  not  things  of  indifference,  but  of  conscience. 

20.  The  Walloons  are  Romanized  Gauls,  lineal  representatives  of  the 
ancient    Belgse.     They  exhibit    the  Celtic   temperament.     Their  number  at 
present  in  Belgium  is  nearly  three  millions. 

21.  See  Gen.  xii.  I. 

22.  Terminus  ad  queni  =  destination. 

23.  The  substance  of  these  articles  is  given  in  Palfrey's  "  History  of  New 
England,"  Vol.  I.,  p.  154. 

24.  This  act  showed  the  deep  earnestness  of  the  Puritans.     It  was  only 
a  temporary  communism  growing  out  of  their  necessities.     Bradford,  a  leader 
among  the  Plymouth  colonists,  wrote:   "The  experience  that  was  had  in  this 
common  course  and  condition,  tried  sundry  years,  and  that  amongst  godly  and 
sober  men,  may  well  evince  the  vanity  of  that  conceit  of  Plato's  and  other 
ancients,  applauded  by  some  of  later  times,  that  the  taking  away  of  property, 
and  bringing  in  community  into  a  commonwealth,  would  make  them  happy 
and  flourishing  ;   as  if  they  were  wiser  than  God." 

25.  Delftshaven    is   fourteen    miles  from  Leyden   and  two  miles  from 
Rotterdam,  on  the  river  Maas.     Its  present  population  is  about  10,000. 

26.  When  it  was  decided  that  the  Speedwell  was  unseaworthy,  a  part  of 
the  company  returned  to  England.     The  original  number  was  about  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty,  of  whom  one  hundred  and  two  continued  their  journey  in 
the  Mayflower. 


ADDRESS    TO   POOR   RICHARD'S  ALMANAC, 


y^Ca  >   l 

III. 

SELECTION   FROM   FRANKLIN. 

PRELIMINARY  ADDRESS  TO  THE  PENNSYLVANIA  ALMANAC,   EN- 
TITLED POOR  RICHARD'S  ALMANAC,  FOR  THE  YEAR  1758. 

I  HAVE  heard  that  nothing  gives  an  author  so  great  pleasure  as  to 
find  his  works  respectfully  quoted  by  other  learned  authors.  This 
pleasure  I  have  seldom  enjoyed ;  for  though  I  have  been,  if  I  may  say 
it  without  vanity,  an  eminent  author  (of  almanacs)  annually,  now  a  full 
quarter  of  a  century,  my  brother  authors  in  the  same  way  (for  what 
reason  I  know  not)  have  ever  been  very  sparing  in  their  applauses ; 
and  no  other  author  has  taken  the  least  notice  of  me :  so  that,  did  not 
my  writings  produce  me  some  solid  pudding,  the  great  deficiency  of 
praise  would  have  quite  discouraged  me. 

I  concluded,  at  length,  that  tiie  people  were  the  best  judges  of  my 
merit,  for  they  buy  my  works  ;  and  besides,  in  my  rambles,  where  I  am 
not  personally  known,  I  have  frequently  heard  one  and  another  of  my 
adages  repeated,  with  "  As  poor  Richard  says,"  at  the  end  on't.  This 
gave  me  some  satisfaction,  as  it  showed  not  only  that  my  instructions 
were  regarded,  but  discovered  likewise  some  respect  for  my  authority ; 
and  I  own,  that  to  encourage  the  practice  of  remembering  and  repeat- 
ing those  wise  sentences,  I  have  sometimes  quoted  myself  with  great 
gravity.1 

Judge,  then,  how  much  I  have  been  gratified  by  an  incident  which 
I  am  going  to  relate  to  you.  I  stopped  my  horse  lately,  where  a  great 
number  of  people  were  collected  at  an  auction2  of  merchants'  goods. 
The  hour  of  sale  not  being  come,  they  were  conversing  on  the  badness 
of  the  times ;  and  one  of  the  company  called  to  a  plain,  clean  old  man, 
with  white  locks:  "Pray,  father  Abraham,  what  think  ye  of  the 
times?3  Won't  these  heavy  taxes  quite  ruin  the  country?  How  shall 
we  ever  be  able  to  pay  them?  What  would  you  advise  us  to  do?" 
Father  Abraham  stood  up  and  replied,  "  If  you'd  have  my  advice,  I'll 
give  it  to  you  in  short ;  '  for  a  word  to  the  wise  is  enough  ;  and  many 
words  won't  fill  a  bushel,'  as  poor  Richard  says."  They  joined  in  de- 


2QO  .  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

siring  him  to  s^eak  his  mind ;  and  gathering  round  him,  he  proceeded 
as  follows :  — 

"  Friends  (says  he)  and  neighbors,  the  taxes  are  indeed  very 
heavy ;  and  if  those  laid  on  by  the  government  were  the  only  ones  we 
had  to  pay,  we  might  more  easily  discharge  them ;  but  we  have  many 
others,  and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us.  We  are  taxed  twice 
as  much  by  our  idleness,  three  times  as  much  by  our  pride,  and  four 
times  as  much  by  our  folly  ;4  and  from  these  taxes  the  commissioners 
cannot  ease  or  deliver  us,  by  allowing  an  abatement.  However,  let  us 
hearken  to  good  advice,  and  something  may  be  done  for  us ;  '  God 
helps  them  that  help  themselves,1  as  poor  Richard  says  in  his  almanac. 

I.5  "  It  would  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  should  tax  its 
people  one-tenth  part  of  their  time,  to  be  employed  in  its  service ;  but 
idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more,  if  we  reckon  all  that  is  spent  in 
absolute  sloth,  or  doing  of  nothing,  with  that  which  is  spent  in  idle 
employments,  or  amusements  that  amount  to  nothing.  Sloth,  by 
bringing  on  diseases,  absolutely  shortens  life.  '  Sloth,  like  rust,  con- 
sumes faster  than  labor  wears,  while  the  key  often  used  is  always 
bright,'  as  poor  Richard  says.  '  But  dost  thou  love  life?  then  do  not 
squander  time,  for  thafs  the  stuff  life  is  made  of,'  as  poor  Richard 
says.  How  much  more  than  is  necessary  do  we  spend  in  sleep,  for- 
getting, that  '  the  sleeping  fox  catches  no  poultry,  and  that  there  will 
be  sleeping  enough  in  the  grave,'  as  poor  Richard  says.  '  If  time  be 
of  all  things  the  most  precious,  wasting  time  must  be  (as  poor  Richard 
says)  the  greatest  prodigality  ; '  since,  as  he  elsewhere  tells  us,  '  Lost 
time  is  never  found  again:  and  what  we  call  time  enough,  always 
proves  little  enough.1  Let  us  then  up  and  be  doing,  and  doing  to  the 
purpose  ;  so  by  diligence  shall  we  do  more  with  less  perplexity.  '  Sloth 
makes  all  things  difficult,  but  industry  all  easy,'  as  poor  Richard  says ; 
and  '  He  that  riseth  late  must  trot  all  day,  and  shall  scarce  overtake  his 
business  at  night ;  while  laziness  travels  so  slowly,  that  poverty  soon 
overtakes  him,'  as  we  read  in  poor  Richard ;  who  adds,  '  Drive  thy 
business,  let  not  that  drive  thee ; '  and  '  Early  to  bed,  and  early  to 
rise,  makes  a  man  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise.' 

"So  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  times?  We 
make  these  times  better  if  we  bestir  ourselves.  '  Industry  need  not 
wish,'  as  poor  Richard  says ;  and,  '  He  that  lives  upon  hope  will  die 
fasting.'  '  There  are  no  gains  without  pains ;  then  help,  hands,  for  I 
have  no  lands ;  or  if  I  have,  they  are  smartly  taxed ; '  and  (as  poor 
Richard  likewise  observes),  '  He  that  hath  a  trade  hath  an  estate,  and 


A  DDK  ESS    TO   POOR   RICHARD'S  ALMANAC.  2QI 

lie  that  hath  a  calling  hath  an  office  of  profit  and  honor;1  but  then 
the  trade  must  be  worked  at,  and  the  calling  well  followed,  or  neither 
the  estate  nor  the  office  will  enable  us  to  pay  our  taxes.  If  we  are 
industrious,  we  shall  never  starve  ;  for,  as  poor  Richard  says,  '  At  the 
workingman's  house  hunger  looks  in,  but  dare  not  enter.'  Nor  will 
the  bailiff  or  the  constable  enter ;  for  '  Industry  pays  debts,  but  de- 
spair increaseth  them,'  says  poor  Richard.  What  though  you  have 
found  no  treasure,  nor  has  any  rich  relation  left  you  a  legacy?  '  Dili- 
gence is-the  mother  of  good  luck,'  as  poor  Richard  says ;  and,  '  God 
gives  all  things  to  industry;  then  plough  deep  while  sluggards  sleep, 
and  you  will  have  corn  to  sell  and  to  keep,'  says  poor  Dick.  Work 
while  it  is  called  to-day;  for  you  know  not  how  much  you  may  be 
hindered  to-morrow ;  which  makes  poor  Richard  say,  '  One  to-day  is 
worth  two  to-morrows ; '  and  farther,  '  Have  you  somewhat  to  do  to- 
morrow, do  it  to-day.'  '  If  you  were  a  servant,  would  you  not  be 
ashamed  that  a  good  master  should  catch  you  idle?  Are  you  then 
your  own  master,  be  ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle,'  as  poor  Dick 
says.  When  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  for  yourself,  your  family, 
and  your  gracious  king,  be  up  by  peep  of  day ;  '  Let  not  the  sun  look 
down  and  say,  Inglorious  here  he  lies ! '  '  Handle  your  tools  without 
mittens ; '  remember,  that  '  the  cat  in  gloves  catches  no  mice,'  as  poor 
Richard  says.  It  is  true,  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and  perhaps  you 
are  weak-handed ;  but  stick  to  it  steadily,  and  you  will  see  great 
effects  ;  for,  '  continual  dropping  wears  away  stones,'  and  '  by  diligence 
and  patience  the  mouse  ate  in  two  the  cable,'  and  '  light  strokes  fell 
great  oaks,'  as  poor  Richard  says  in  his  almanac,  the  year  I  cannot 
just  now  remember. 

"  Methinks  I  hear  some  of  you  say,  '  Must  a  man  afford  himself 
no  leisure?'  I  will  tell  thee,  my  friend,  what  poor  Richard  says: 
'  Employ  thy  time  well,  if  thou  meanest  to  gain  leisure ;'  and  since 
thou  art  not  sure  of  a  minute,  throw  not  away  an  hour.'  Leisure  is 
time  for  doing  something  useful:  this  leisure  the  diligent  man  will 
obtain;  but  the  lazy  man  never;  so  that,  as  poor  Richard  says,  'A 
life  of  leisure  and  a  life  of  laziness  are  two  things.'  Do  you  imagine 
that  sloth  will  afford  you  more  comfort  than  labor?  No  ;  for,  as  poor 
Richard  says,  '  Troubles  spring  from  idleness,  and  grievous  toils  from 
needless  ease  :  many,  without  labor,  would  live  by  their  wits  only ;  but 
they  break  for  want  of  stock.'  Whereas  industry  gives  comfort,  and 
plenty,  and  respect.  '  Fly  pleasures,  and  they'll  follow  you  ;  the  dili- 
gent spinner  has  a  large  shift ;  and,  now  I  have  a  sheep  and  cow, 


292  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

everybody  bids   me  good-morrow ; '  all  which   is  well   said   by  poor 
Richard. 

II.  "  But  with  our  industry  we  must  likewise  be  steady  and  set- 
tled and  careful,  and  oversee  our  own  affairs  with  our  own  eyes,  and 
not  trust  too  much  to  others ;  for,  as  poor  Richard  says,- 

'  I  never  saw  an  oft-removed  tree, 
Nor  yet  an  oft-removed  family, 
That  throve  so  well  as  one  that  settled  be.' 

"And  again,  '  Three  removes  are  as  bad  as  a  fire ; '  and  again, 
'Keep  thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will  keep  thee;'  and  again,  '  If  you 
would  have  your  business  done,  go;  if  not,  send.'6  And  again, — 

'  He  that  by  the  plow  would  thrive, 
Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive.' 

"  And  again,  '  The  eye  of  the  master  will  do  more  work  than  both 
his  hands ; '  and  again,  '  Want  of  care  does  us  more  damage  than 
want  of  knowledge  ; '  and  again,  '  Not  to  oversee  workmen,  is  to  leave 
them  your  purse  open ! '  Trusting  too  much  to  others'  care  is  the  ruin 
of  many;  for,  as  the  almanac  says,  '  In  the  affairs  of  the  world,  men 
are  saved  not  by  faith,  but  by  the  want  of  it ; '  but  a  man's  own 
care  is  profitable;  for,  saith  poor  Dick,  '  Learning  is  to  the  studious, 
and  riches  to  the  careful,  as  well  as  power  to  the  bold,  and  heaven  to 
the  virtuous.'  And,  farther,  '  If  you  would  have  a  faithful  servant,  and 
one  that  you  like,  serve  yourself.'  And  again,  he  adviseth  to  circum- 
spection and  care,  even  in  the  smallest  matters,  because  sometimes, 
'  A  little  neglect  may  breed  great  mischief; '  adding,  '  For  want  of  a 
nail  the  shoe  was  lost ;  for  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost ;  and  for 
want  of  a 'horse  the  rider  was  lost,  being  overtaken  and  slain  by  the 
enemy  —  all  for  want  of  a  little  care  about  a  horse-shoe  nail.1 

III.  "So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to  one's 
own  business ;  but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality,7  if  we  would  make 
our  industry  more  certainly  successful.     A  man  may,  if  he  knows  not 
how  to  save  as  he  gets,  'keep  his  nose  all  his  life  to  the  grindstone, 
and  die  not  worth  a  groat  at  last.'     '  A  fat  kitchen  makes  a  lean  will,' 
as  poor  Richard  says,  and,  — 

'Many  estates  are  spent  in  the  getting, 
Since  women  for  tea  forsook  spinning  and  knitting, 
And  men  for  punch  forsook  hewing  and  splitting.' 


ADDRESS    TO   POOR   RICHARD'S  ALMANAC.  293 

"  '  If  you  would  be  wealthy,'  says  he  in  another  almanac,  '  Think 
of  saving  as  well  as  getting:  the  Indies8  have  not  made  Spain  rich, 
because  her  outgoes  are  greater  than  her  incomes.' 

"Away  then  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will  not  have 
much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times,  heavy  taxes,  and  chargeable 
families  ;  for,  as  poor  Dick  says,  — 

'  Women  and  wine,  game  and  deceit, 
Make  the  wealth  small,  and  the  want  great.' 

"And,  farther,  '  What  maintains  one  vice  would  bring  up  two  chil- 
dren.' You  may  think,  perhaps,  that  a  little  tea,  or  a  little  punch 
now  and  then,  diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes  a  little  finer,  and  a 
little  entertainment  now  and  then,  can  be  no  great  matter;  but  re- 
member what  poor  Richard  says,  '  Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle ; ' 
and,  farther,  '  Beware  of  little  expenses ;  a  small  leak  will  sink  a  great 
ship ; '  and  again,  '  Who  dainties  love  shall  beggars  prove ; '  and 
moreover,  '  Fools  make  feasts,  and  wise  men  eat  them.1 

"Here  you  are  all  got  together  at  this  sale  of  fineries  and  nick- 
nacks.  You  call  them  goods ;  but  if  you  do  not  take  care,  they  will 
prove  evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect  they  will  be  sold  cheap,  and 
perhaps  they  may  for  less  than  they  cost ;  but  if  you  have  no  occasion 
for  them,  they  must  be  dear  to  you.  Remember  what  poor  Richard 
says,  '  Buy  what  thou  hast  no  need  of,  and  ere  long  thou  shall  sell  thy 
necessaries.1  And  again,  '  At  a  great  pennyworth,  pause  awhile.'  He 
means  that  perhaps  the  cheapness  is  apparent  only,  and  not  real ;  or, 
the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in  thy  business,  may  do  thee  more 
harm  than  good.  For  in  another  place  he  says,  '  Many  have  been 
ruined  by  buying  good  pennyworths.'  Again,  as  poor  Richard  says, 
'  It  is  foolish  to  lay  out  money  in  a  purchase  of  repentance,'  and  yet 
this  folly  is  practised  every  clay  at  auctions,  for  want  of  minding  the 
almanac.  '  Wise  men,'  as  poor  Dick  says,  '  learn  by  others'  harms, 
fools  scarcely  by  their  own  ;  but  Felix quern  factunt  aliena  pericula  can- 
/V/;//.'9  Many  a  one,  for  the  sake  of  finery  on  the  back,  has  gone  with 
a  hungry  belly,  and  half  starved  their  families  :  '  Silks  and  satins,  scar- 
let and  velvets,'  as  poor  Richard  says,  '  put  out  the  kitchen  fire.'  These 
are  not  the  necessaries  of  life ;  they  can  scarcely  be  called  the  conve- 
niences ;  and  yet  only  because  they  look  pretty,  how  many  want  to 
have  them  ?  The  artificial  wants  of  mankind  thus  become  more  nu- 
merous than  the  natural ;  and,  as  poor  Dick  says,  '  For  one  poor  person 


294  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

there  are  a  hundred  indigent.'  *°  By  these  and  other  extravagances, 
the  genteel  are  reduced  to  poverty,  and  forced  to  borrow  of  those 
whom  they  formerly  despised,  but  who,  through  industry  and  frugality, 
have  maintained  their  standing ;  in  which  case,  it  appears  plainly,  '  A 
ploughman  on  his  legs  is  higher  than  a  gentleman  on  his  knees,'  as 
poor  Richard  says.  Perhaps  they  have  had  a  small  estate  left  them, 
which  they  knew  not  the  getting  of;  they  think,  'It  is  day,  and  will 
never  be  night ; '  that  a  little  to  be  spent  out  of  so  much  is  not  worth 
minding:  'A  child  and  a  fool  (as  poor  Richard  says)  imagine  twenty 
shillings  and  twenty  years  can  never  be  spent ;  but  always  be  taking 
out  of  the  meal-tub,  and  never  putting  in,  soon  comes  to  the  bottom ; ' 
then,  as  poor  Dick  says,  '  When  the  well  is  dry,  they  know  the  worth 
of  water.'  But  this  they  might  have  known  before,  if  they  had  taken 
his  advice.  If  you  would  know  the  value  of  money,  go  and  try  to  bor- 
row some ;  for  '  He  that  goes  a  borrowing  goes  a  sorrowing ; '  and, 
indeed,  so  does  he  that  lends  to  such  people,  when  he  goes  to  get  it 
again.  Poor  Dick  farther  advises,  and  says,  — 

'  Fond  pride  of  dress  is  sure  a  very  curse ; 
Ere  fancy  you  consult,  consult  your  purse.' 

"  And  again,  '  Pride  is  as  loud  a  beggar  as  Want,  and  a  great  deal 
more  saucy.'  When  you  have  bought  one  fine  thing,  you  must  buy 
ten  more,  that  your  appearance  may  be  all  of  a  piece ;  but  poor  Dick 
Says,  '  It  is  easier  to  suppress  the  first  desire  than  to  satisfy  all  that 
follow  it.'  And  it  is  as  truly  folly  for  the  poor  to  ape  the  rich,  as  for 
the  frog  to  swell,  in  order  to  equal  the  ox. 

'  Vessels  large  may  venture  more, 
But  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore.' 

"  'Tis,  however,  a  folly  soon  punished ;  for,  '  Pride  that  dines  on 
vanity,  sups  on  contempt,'  as  poor  Richard  says.  And,  in  another 
place,  ''Pride  breakfasted  with  Plenty,  dined  with  Poverty,  and  supped 
with  Infamy.'  And  after  all,  of  what  use  is  this  pride  of  appearance 
for  which  so  much  is  risked,  so  much  is  suffered?  It  cannot  promote 
health  nor  ease  pain ;  it  makes  no  increase  of  merit  in  the  person ;  it 
creates  envy;  it  hastens  misfortune. 

'  What  is  a  butterfly  ?  at  best, 
He's  but  a  caterpillar  dress'd; 
The  gaudy  fop's  his  picture  just,' 

as  poor  Richard  says. 

"  But  what  madness  must  it  be  to  run  in  debt  for  these  superflui- 


ADDRESS    TO   POOR   RICHARD'S  ALMANAC.  2Q5 

ties  :  we  are  offered  by  the  terms  of  this  sale  six  months  credit,  and  that 
perhaps  has  induced  some  of  us  to  attend  it,  because  we  cannot  spare 
the  ready  money,  and  hope  now  to  be  fine  without  it.  But  ah !  think 
what  you  do  when  you  run  in  debt.  You  give  to  another  power  over 
your  liberty.  If  you  cannot  pay  at  the  time,  you  will  be  ashamed  to 
see  your  creditor :  you  will  be  in  fear  when  you  speak  to  him ;  you 
will  make  poor,  pitiful,  sneaking  excuses,  and  by  degrees  come  to 
lose  your  veracity,  and  sink  into  base,  downright  lying ;  for,  as  poor 
Richard  says,  'The  second  vice  is  lying;  the  first  is  running  in  debt.' 
And  again,  to  the  same  purpose,  '  Lying  rides  upon  debt's  back ; ' 
whereas  a  freeborn  Englishman  ought  not  to  be  ashamed  nor  afraid 
to  speak  to  any  man  living.  But  poverty  often  deprives  a  man  of  all 
spirit  and  virtue :  '  It  is  hard  for  an  empty  bag  to  stand  upright,'  as 
poor  Richard  truly  says.  What  would  you  think  of  that  prince  or  that 
government,  who  would  issue  an  edict,  forbidding  you  to  dress  like  a 
gentleman  or  gentlewoman,  on  pain  of  imprisonment  or  servitude? 
would  you  not  say  that  you  were  free,  have  a  right  to  dress  as  you 
please,  and  that  such  an  edict  would  be  a  breach  of  your  privileges, 
and  such  a  government  tyrannical?  And  -yet  you  are  about  to  put 
yourself  under  that  tyranny  when  you  run  in  debt  for  such  dress ! 
Your  creditor  has  authority,  at  his  pleasure,  to  deprive  you  of  your 
liberty,  'by  confining  you  in  gaol  for  life,'"  or  by  selling  you  for  a 
servant,  if  you  should  not  be  able  to  pay  him.  When  you  have  got 
your  bargain,  you  may,  perhaps,  think  little  of  payment ;  but,  '  Credit- 
ors (poor  Richard  tells  us)  have  better  memories  than  debtors ; '  and 
in  another  place  he  says,  '  Creditors  are  a  superstitious  sect,  great  ob- 
servers of  set  days  and  times.'  The  day  comes  round  before  you  are 
aware,  and  the  demand  is  made  before  you  are  prepared  to  satisfy  it. 
Or  if  you  bear  your  debt  in  mind,  the  term,  which  at  first  seemed  $o 
long,  will,  as  it  lessens,  appear  extremely  short.  Time  will  seem 
to  have  added  wings  to  his  heels  as  well  as  at  his  shoulders.  '  Those 
have  a  short  Lent  (saith  poor  Richard)  who  owe  money  to  be  paid  at 
Easter.'  Then  since,  as  he  says,  '  The  borrower  is  a  slave  to  the 
lender,  and  the  debtor  to  the  creditor  i'  disdain  the  chain,  preserve 
your  freedom,  and  maintain  your  independency :  be  industrious  and 
free ;  be  frugal  and  free.  At  present,  perhaps,  you  may  think  your- 
selves in  thriving  circumstances,  and  that  you  can  bear  a  little  extrav- 
agance without  injury ;  but,  as  poor  Richard  says,  — 

'For  age  and  want  save  while  you  may, 
No  morning  sun  lasts  a  whole  day.' 


296  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain ;  but  ever,  while  you  live, 
expense  is  constant  and  certain ;  and  '  It  is  easier  to  build  two  chim- 
neys than  to  keep  one  in  fuel,'  as  poor  Richard  says.  So  'Rather  go 
to  bed  supperless  than  rise  in  debt.' 

'  Get  what  you  can,  and  what  you  get,  hold ; 
'Tis  the  stone  that  will  turn  all  your  lead  into  gold,' 

as  poor  Richard  says.  And  when  you  have  got  the  philosopher's 
stone,  sure  you  will  no  longer  complain  of  bad  times  or  the  difficulty 
of  paying  taxes. 

IV.  "  This  doctrine,  my  friends,  is  reason  and  wisdom  :  but,  after 
all,  do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  industry,  and  frugality, 
and  prudence,  though  excellent  things ;  for  they  may  all  be  blasted 
without  the  blessing  of  Heaven ;  I2  and,  therefore,  ask  that  blessing 
humbly,  and  be  not  uncharitable  to  those  that  at  present  seem  to 
want  it,  but  comfort  and  help  them.  Remember  Job  suffered,  and 
was  afterwards  prosperous. 

"  And  now,  to  conclude,  '  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school ;  but 
fools  will  learn  in  no  other,  and  scarce  in  that ;  for  it  is  true,  we  may 
give  advice,  but  we  cannot  give  conduct,'  as  poor  Richard  says. 
However,  remember  this,  '  They  that  will  not  be  counseled,  cannot 
be  helped, 'as  poor  Richard  says;  and,  farther,  that  'If  you  will  not 
hear  Reason,  she  will  surely  rap  your  knuckles.'" 

Thus  the  old  gentleman  ended  his  harangue.  The  people  heard 
it,  and  approved  the  doctrine,  and  immediately  practised  the  contrary, 
just  as  if  it  had  been  a  common  sermon  ;  for  the  auction  opened,  and 
they  began  to  buy  extravagantly,  notwithstanding  all  his  cautions,  and 
their  own  fear  of  taxes.  I  found  the  good  man  had  thoroughly  studied 
my  almanacs,  and  digested  all  I  had  dropped  on  these  topics,  during 
the  course  of  twenty-five  years.  The  frequent  mention  he  made  of  me 
must  have  tired  every  one  else ;  but  my  vanity  was  wonderfully  de- 
lighted with  it,  though  I  was  conscious  that  not  a  tenth  part  of  the 
wisdom  was  my  own,  which  he  ascribed  to  me,  but  rather  the  glean- 
ings that  I  had  made  of  the  sense  of  all  ages  and  nations.  However, 
I  resolved  to  be  the  better  for  the  echo  of  it ;  and  though  I  had  at  first 
determined  to  buy  stuff  for  a  new  coat,  I  went  away,  resolved  to  wear 
my  old  one  a  little  longer.  Reader,  if  thou  wilt  do  the  same,  thy 
profit  will  be  as  great  as  mine. 

I  am,  as  ever,  thine  to  serve  thee, 

RICHARD  SAUNDERS. 


NOTES  TO  ADDRESS  TO  POOR  RICHARD'S  ALMANAC.      297 


NOTES  TO  THE  PRELIMINARY  ADDRESS  TO  POOR  RICHARD'S 
ALMANAC. 

SEE  the  sketch  of  Franklin  for  an  account  of  the  "Almanac,"  and  the 
popularity  of  Father  Abraham's  speech. 

1.  The  opening  paragraphs  well  illustrate  Franklin's  style.     It  is  clear 
and  natural,   and   pervaded   by   a   kindly   humor.     The   flavor   of  Addison's 
Spectator  is  easily  recognized.     The  Saxon  element  of  our  language  predom- 
inates, and  there  is  almost  a  total  lack  of  figurative  language. 

2.  Note  the  etymology:   Latin  azigere,  to  increase.      "A  public  sale, 
where  the  price  was  called  out  and  the  article  sold  adjudged  to  the  last 
increaser   of  the  price,  or  the  highest  bidder."  —  WEBSTER. 

The  place  for  Father  Abraham's  speech  was  wisely  chosen.  The  auctions 
of  those  days  were  scenes  of  extravagance  and  folly.  The  people,  summoned 
by  bell  and  crier,  gathered  long  before  the  sale  began,  and  were  supplied 
with  rum  by  the  salesman.  Thus,  when  the  auction  began,  they  were  in  a 
condition  to  pay  prices  they  would  not  have  thought  of  in  their  sober  senses. 

3.  The  people  might  well  inquire  of  the  times.     It  was  a  day  of  darkness 
and  gloom.     "  The  French  and  Indian  War  had  been  raging  four  years  ;  and 
success  was  still  with  the  French.     Washington  had  been  driven  from  Fort 
Necessity.      Braddock  had    perished    in  the   woods.      The  venture  against 
Niagara  had  failed.     That  against  Ticonderoga  had  done  little.      The  sea 
swarmed  with  French  and  Spanish  privateers.     Trade  was  dull.     Taxes  were 
heavy.     Grumbling  was  everywhere.     Men  of  all  sorts  bemoaned  the  hard 
times."  —  McMASTER. 

4.  Here  we  are  introduced  to  Franklin's  philosophy  of  life.     It  has  been 
called  "the  candle-end-saving  philosophy.'      Moral  considerations  for  their 
own  sake  hardly  entered  into  it.     The  virtues  of  industry,  frugality,  and  in- 
tegrity were  to  be  practised  as  the  best  policy.     Idleness,  wastefulness,  and 
knavery   were    to   be  avoided  because  experience  shows  that  they  do  not 
pay. 

5.  Note  the  four  divisions  of  the  speech  or  sermon.     The  first  treats  of 
industry;   the  second,  of  attention  to  one's  business  ;  the  third,  of  frugality; 
the  fourth  (and  very  briefly),  of  the  blessing  of  Heaven.    It  would  be  difficult 
to  find  elsewhere  so  much  practical  wisdom  crowded  into  a  small  space.     The 
maxims,  for  the  most  part,  were  not  original,  but  taken  from  every  available 
source.     Many  of  them  were  improved  by  Franklin's  happy  phraseology.     For 
example,  the  aphorism,  "  Bad  hours  and  ill  company  have  ruined  many  fine 


298  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

young  people,"  was  transformed  in  "Poor   Richard"   into,    "The  rotten 
apple  spoils  his  companions." 

6.  This  adage  is  noteworthy  for  its  connection  with  an  event  in  the  life 
of  the  Revolutionary  hero,  Paul  Jones.     After  his  celebrated  victory  in  the 
Ranger,  he  went  to  Brest  to  await  the  command  of  a  new  ship  that  had  been 
promised  him.     He  waited  for  months  in  vain.     He  wrote  to  Franklin,  to 
the  royal  family,-  and  to  the  king,  but  was  put  off  with  delays  and  excuses. 
Finally,  he  happened  to  pick  up  a  copy  of  "  Poor  Richard,"  and  read,  "  If 
you  would  have  your  business  done,  go ;   if  not,  send ;  "  and  profiting  by  the 
lesson,  he  hastened  to  Versailles,  and  there  got  an  order  for  the  purchase  of 
a  ship,  which,  in  honor  of  his  teacher,  he  renamed  the  Bon  Homme  Richard. 

7.  It  is  significant  that  Franklin  uses  the  word  frugality  rather  than  econ- 
omy.    It  is  more  in  harmony  with  his  practical  philosophy.     "  Economy  avoids 
all  waste  and  extravagance,  and  applies  money  to  the  best  advantage;  frugal- 
ity cuts  off  all  indulgences,  and  proceeds  on  a  system  of  rigid  and  habitual 
saving."     Frugality  is  in  danger  of  running  into  the  vice  of  parsimony. 

8.  These  are  the  West  Indies,  to  which  Spain  originally  laid  claim  by  the 
so-called  right  of  discovery.     Of  all  the  islands,  only  Cuba  and  Porto  Rico 
now  belong  to  Spain.     The  extensive  revenues  at  one  time  derived  from  the 
Indies  were  squandered  in  foreign  wars  and  domestic  strife. 

9.  "  Fortunate  is  the  man  who  learns  by  the  experience  of  others." 

10.  According  to  Franklin's  distinction,  a  poor  person  is  one  who  cannot 
supply  his  natural  wants ;   an  indigent  person  is  one  who  cannot  supply  his 
artificial  wants.     Hence  we  may  give  the  sense  of  the  maxim  by  saying, 
More  persons  suffer  from  artificial  than  from  natural  wants. 

1 1 .  The  law  giving  the  creditor  a  right  to  imprison  the  debtor  in  default 
of  payment  continued  till  late  into  the  present  century.     It  was  abolished  in 
New  York  in  1831.     The  history  of  the  relation  of  debtor  and  creditor  shows 
the  march  of  social  progress.     In  ancient  times  the  creditor  had  power  not 
only  over  the  person  of  the  debtor,  but  over  his  wife  and  children  also.     A 
reference  to  this  fact  is  found  in  Matt,  xviii.  25. 

12.  Franklin  firmly  believed  in  an  overruling  Providence.      In  his  last 
illness  he  expressed  his  gratitude  to  the  Supreme  Being,  "who  had  raised 
him,  from  small  and  low  beginnings,  to  such  high  rank  and  consideration 
among  men."     This  belief  is  clearly  seen  in  his  speech  before  the  convention 
assembled  to  frame  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  when  he  moved 
that  the  sessions  be  opened  each  day  with  prayer.     "  I  have  lived,  sir,  a  long 
time-;  and,  the  longer  I  live,  the  more  convincing  proofs  I  see  of  this  truth, 
lhat  GOD  governs  in  the  affairs  of  men;  and,  if  a  sparrow  cannot  fall  to  the 
ground  without  his  notice,  is  it  probable  that  an  empire  can  rise  without  his 
aid  ?     We  have  been  assured,  sir,  in  the  Sacred  Writings,  that  '  except  the 
Lord  build  the  house,  they  labor  in  vain  that  build  it.'     I  firmly  believe  this." 


RJLSOL  UTIONS  OF  JON  A  THAN  ED  WARDS.  299 

IV. 

RESOLUTIONS   OF   JONATHAN   EDWARDS. 

BEING  sensible  that  I  am  unable  to  do  anything  without  God's 
help,  I  do  humbly  entreat  him  by  his  grace,  to  enable  me  to  keep 
these  resolutions,  so  far  as  they  are  agreeable  to  his  will,  for  Christ's 
sake. 

Remember  to  read  over  these  resolutions  once  a  week. 

1.  Resolved,  That  I  will  do  whatsoever  I  think  to  be  most  to  the 
glory  of  God '  and  my  own  good,  profit,  and  pleasure,  in  the  whole  of 
my  duration,  without  any  consideration  of  the  time,  whether  now,  or 
never  so  many  myriads  of  ages  hence.     Resolved,  to  do  whatever  I 
think  to  be  my  duty,  and  most  for  the  good  of  mankind  in  general. 
Resolved  so  to  do,  whatever  difficulties  I  meet  with,  how  many  soever, 
and  how  great  soever. 

2.  Resolved,  To  be  continually  endeavoring  to  find  out  some  new 
contrivance  and  invention  to  promote  the  forementioned  things. 

3.  Resolved,  If  ever  I  shall  fall  and  grow  dull,  so  as  to  neglect  to 
keep  any  part  of  these  resolutions,  to  repent  of  all  I  can  remember, 
when  I  come  to  myself  again. 

4.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  manner  of  thing,  whether  in  soul  or 
body,  less  or  more,  but  what  tends  to  the  glory  of  God ;  nor  be,  nor 
suffer  it,  if  I  can  possibly  avoid  it. 

5.  Resolved,  Never  to  lose  one  moment  of  time,  but  to  improve  it 
in  the  most  profitable  way  I  possibly  can. 

6.  Resolved,  To  live  with  all  my  might  while  I  do  live. 

7.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  which  I  should  be  afraid  to  do, 
if  it  were  the  last  hour  of  my  life. 

8.  Resolved,  To  act,  in  all  respects,  both  speaking  and  doing,  as 
if  nobody  had  been  so  vile  as  I,  and  as  if  I  had  committed  the  same 
sins,  or  had  the  same  infirmities  or  failings  as  others ;  and  that  I  will 
let  the  knowledge  of  their  failings  promote  nothing  but  shame  in  myself, 
and  prove  only  an  occasion  of  my  confessing  my  own  sins  and  misery 
to  God. 


3OO  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

9.   Resolved,  To  think  much,  on  all  occasions,  of  my  own  dying, 
and  of  the  common  circumstances  which  attend  death.2 

10.  Resolved,  When  I  feel  pain,  to  think  of  the  pains  of  martyr- 
dom and  of  hell. 

11.  Resolved,  When  I   think  of  any  theorem  in  divinity  to  be 
solved,  immediately  to  do  what  I  can  towards  solving  it,  if  circum- 
stances do  not  hinder. 

12.  Resolved,  If  I  take  delight  in  it  as  a  gratification  of  pride  or 
vanity,  or  on  any  such  account,  immediately  to  throw  it  by. 

13.  Resolved,  To  be  endeavoring  to  find  out  fit  objects  of  charity 
and  liberality. 

14.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  out  of  revenge. 

15.  Resolved,  Never  to  suffer  the  least  motions  of  anger  towards 
irrational  beings. 

1 6.  Resolved,  Never  to  speak  evil  of  any  one  so  that  it  shall  tend 
to  his  dishonor,  more  or  less,  upon  no  account,  except  for  some  real 
good. 

17.  Resolved,  That  I  will  live  so,  as  I  shall  wish  I  had  done  when 
I  come  to  die. 

18.  Resolved,  To  live  so  at  all  times,  as  I  think  it  best,  in  my  most 
devout  frames,  and  when  I  have  the  clearest  notion  of  the  things  of 
the  gospel  and  another  world. 

19.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  which  I  should  be  afraid  to 
do,  if  I  expected  it  would  not  be  above  an  hour  before  I  should  hear 
the  last  trump. 

20.  Resolved,    To  maintain  the  strictest  temperance  in  eating  and 
drinking. 

21.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing,  which,  if  I  should  see  in 
another,  I  should  account  a  just  occasion  to  despise  him  for,  or  to 
think  any  way  the  more  meanly  of  him. 

22.  Resolved,  To  endeavor  to  obtain  for  myself  as  much  happiness 
in  the  other  world,  as  I  possibly  can,  with  all  the  might,  power,  vigor, 
and  vehemence,  yea,  violence,  I  am  capable  of,  or  can  bring  myself  to 
exert,  in  any  way  that  can  be  thought  of. 3 

23.  Resolved,  Frequently  to  take  some  deliberate  action,  which 
seems  most  unlikely  to  be  done  for  the  glory  of  God,  and  trace  it  back 
to  the  original  intention,  designs,  and  ends  of  it ;  and,  if  I  find  it  not 
to  be  for  God's  glory,  to  repute  it  as  a  breach  of  the  four.h  resolution. 

24.  Resolved,  Whenever  I   do  any  conspicuously  evil  action,  to 
trace  it  back  till  I  come  to  the  original  cause ;  and  then,  both  care- 


RESOL  UTIONS   OF  JON  A  Til  A  N  ED  WARDS.  30 1 

fully  to  endeavor  to  do  so  no  more,  and  to  fight  and  pray  with  all  my 
might  against  the  original  of  it. 

25.  Resolved,  To  examine  carefully  and  constantly  what  that  one 
thing  in  me  is,  which  causes  me  in  the  least  to  doubt  of  the  love  of 
God ;  and  to  direct  all  my  forces  against  it. 

26.  Resolved,  To  cast  away  such  things  as  I  find  do  abate  my 
assurance. 4 

27.  Resolved,  Never  wilfully  to  omit  any  thing,  except  the  omis- 
sion be  for  the  glory  of  God  ;  and  frequently  to  examine  my  omissions. 

28.  Resolved,  To  study  the  Scriptures  so  steadily,  constantly,  and 
frequently,  as  that  I  may  find,  and  plainly  perceive  myself  to  grow  in 
the  knowledge  of  the  same. 

29.  Resolved,  Never  to  count  that  a  prayer,  nor  to  let  that  pass  as 
a  prayer,  nor  that  as  a  petition  of  a  prayer,  which  is  so  made,  that  I 
cannot  hope  that  God  will  answer  it ;  nor  that  as  a  confession,  which 
I  cannot  hope  God  will  accept. 

30.  Resolved,  To  strive  every  week  to  be  brought  higher  in  reli- 
gion, and  to  a  higher  exercise  of  grace  than  I  was  the  week  before. 

31.  Resolved,  Never  to  say  any  thing  at  all  against  anybody,  but 
when  it  is  perfectly  agreeable  to  the  highest  degree  of  Christian  honor, 
and  of  love  to  mankind ;  agreeable  to  the  lowest  humility  and  sense  of 
my  own  faults  and  failings ;  and  agreeable  to  the  Golden  Rule ;  often 
when  I  have  said  any  thing  against  any  one,  to  bring  it  to,  and  try  it 
strictly  by,  the  test  of  this  resolution. 

32.  Resolved,  To  be  strictly  and  firmly  faithful  to  my  trust,  and 
that  that  in  Proverbs  xx.  6,  "  A  faithful  man,  who  can  find?  "  may  not 
be  partly  fulfilled  in  me. 

33.  Resolved,  To  do  always  towards  making,   maintaining,  and 
preserving  peace,  when  it  can  be  done  without  an  overbalancing  detri- 
ment in  other  respects. 

34.  Resolved,  In  narrations,  never  .to  speak  any  thing  but  the  pure 
and  simple  verity. 

35.  Resolved,  Whenever  I  so  much  question  whether  I  have  done 
my  duty,  as  that  my  quiet  and  calm  is  thereby  disturbed,  to  set  it  down, 
and  also  how  the  question  was  resolved. 

36.  Resolved,  Never  to  speak  evil  of  any,  except  I  have  some  par- 
ticular good  call  to  it. 

37.  Resolved,  To  inquire  every  night,  as  I  am  going  to  bed,  wherein 
I  have  been  negligent ;  what  sin  I  have  committed  ;  and  wherein  I  have 
denied  myself.     Also  at  the  end  of  every  week,  month,  and  year. 


302  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

38.  Resolved,  Never  to  utter  any  thing  that  is  sportive,  or  matter 
of  laughter,  on  a  Lord's  day. s 

39.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  of  which  I  so  much  question 
the  lawfulness,  as  that  I  intend  at  the  same  time  to  consider  and  ex- 
amine afterwards  whether  it  be  lawful  or  not,  unless  I  as  much  question 
the  lawfulness  of  the  omission. 

40.  Resolved,  To  inquire  every  night  before  I  go  to  bed,  whether 
I  have  acted  in  the  best  way  I  possibly  could  with  respect  to  eating 
and  drinking. 

41 .  Resolved,  To  ask  myself,  at  the  end  of  every  day,  week,  month, 
and  year,  wherein  I  could  possibly,  in  any  respect,  have  done  better. 

42.  Resolved,  Frequently  to  renew  the  dedication  of  myself  to  God, 
which  was  made  at  my  baptism ;  which  I  solemnly  renewed  when  I 
was  received  into  the  communion  of  the  Church ;  and  which  I  have 
solemnly  remade  this  I2th  day  of  January,  1723. 

43.  Resolved,  Never,  henceforward,  till  I  die,  to  act  as  if  I  were 
any  way  my  own,  but  entirely  and  altogether  God's  ;  agreeably  to  what 
is  to  be  found  in  Saturday,  January  i2th,  1723. 

44.  Resolved,  That  no  other  end  but  religion  shall  have  any  in- 
fluence at  all  on  any  of  my  actions ;  and  that  no  action  shall  be,  in  the 
least  circumstance,  any  otherwise  than  the  religious  end  will  carry  it.6 

45.  Resolved,  Never  to  allow  any  pleasure  or  grief,  joy  or  sorrow, 
nor  any  affection  at  all,  nor  any  degree  of  affection,  nor  any  circum- 
stance relating  to  it,  but  what  helps  religion. 

46.  Resolved,  Never  to  allow  the  least  measure  of  fretting  or  un- 
easiness at  my  father  or  mother.     Resolved,  to  suffer  no  effects  of  it, 
so  much  as  in  the  least  alteration  of  speech,  or  motion  of  my  eye ;  and 
to  be  especially  careful  of  it  with  respect  to  any  of  our  family. 

47.  Resolved,  To  endeavor,  to  my  utmost,  to  deny  whatever  is  not 
most  agreeable  to  a  good  and  universally  sweet  and  benevolent,  quiet, 
peaceable,  contented  and  easy,  compassionate  and  generous,  humble 
and  meek,  submissive  and  obliging,  diligent  and  industrious,  charitable 
and  even,  patient,  moderate,  forgiving,  and  sincere  temper;  and  to 
do,  at  all  times,  what  such  a  temper  would  lead  me  to,  and  to  examine, 
strictly,  at  the  end  of  every  week,  whether  I  have  so  done. 

48.  Resolved,  Constantly,  with  the  utmost  niceness  and  diligence, 
and  the  strictest  scrutiny,  to  be  looking  into  the  state  of  my  soul,  that 
I  may  know  whether  I  have  truly  an  interest  in  Christ  or  not ;  that, 
when  I  come  to  die,  I  may  not  have  any  negligence  respecting  this,  to 
repent  of. 


RESOLUTIONS   OF  JONATHAN  EDWARDS.  303 

49.  Resolved,  That  this  shall  never  be,  if  I  can  help  it. 

50.  Resolved,  That  I  will  act  so,  as  I  think  I  shall  judge  would 
have  been  best  and  most  prudent,  when  I  come  into  the  future  world. 

5 1 .  Resolved,  That  I  will  act  so,  in  every  respect,  as  I  think  I  shall 
wish  I  had  done,  if  I  should  at  last  be  damned. 

52.  I  frequently  hear  persons  in  old  age  say  how  they  would  live, 
if  they  were  to  live  their  lives  over  again.     Resolved,  that  I  will  live 
just  so  as  I  can  think  I  shall  wish  I  had  done,  supposing  I  live  to  old 
age. 

53.  Resolved,  To  improve  every  opportunity,  when  I  am  in  the 
best  and  happiest  frame  of  mind,  to  cast  and  venture  my  soul  on  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  to  trust  and  confide  in  him,  and  consecrate  myself 
wholly  to  him ;   that  from  this  I   may  have  assurance  of  my  safety, 
knowing  that  I  confide  in  my  Redeemer. 

54.  Resolved,  Whenever  I  hear  any  thing  spoken  in  commendation 
of  any  person,  if  I  think  it  would  be  praiseworthy  in  me,  that  I  will 
endeavor  to  imitate  it. 

55.  Resolved,  To  endeavor,  to  my  utmost,  so  to  act  as  I  can  think 
I  should  do,  if  I  had  already  seen  the  happiness  of  heaven,  and  hell 
torments. 

56.  Resolved,  Never  to  give  over,  nor  in  the  least  to  slacken,  my 
fight  with  my  corruptions,  however  unsuccessful  I  may  be. 

57.  Resolved,  When  I  fear  misfortunes  and  adversity,  to  examine 
whether  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  resolve  to  do  it,  and  let  the  event 
be  just  as  Providence  orders  it.     I  will,  as  far  as  I  can,  be  concerned 
about  nothing  but  my  duty  and  my  sin. 

58.  Resolved,  Not  only  to  refrain  from  an  air  of  dislike,  fretful- 
ness,  and  anger  in  conversation ;  but  to  exhibit  an  air  of  love,  cheer- 
fulness, and  benignity. 

59.  Resolved,  When  I  am  most  conscious  of  provocations  to  ill- 
nature  and  anger,  that  I  will  strive  most  to  feel  and  act  good-naturedly ; 
yea,  at  such  times  to  manifest  good-nature,  though   I  think  that  in 
other  respects  it  would  be  disadvantageous,  and  so  as  would  be  impru- 
dent at  other  times. 

60.  Resolved,  Whenever  my  feelings  begin  to  appear  in  the  least 
out  of  order,  when  I  am  conscious  of  the  least  uneasiness  within,  or 
the  least  irregularity  without,  I  will  then  subject  myself  to  the  strictest 
examination. 

61.  Resolved,  That  I  will  not  give  way  to  that  listlessness  which  I 
find  unbends  and  relaxes  my  mind  from  being  fully  and  fixedly  set  on 


304  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

religion,  whatever  excuse  I  may  have  for  it ;  that  what  my  listlessness 
inclines  me  to  do,  is  best  to  be  done,  etc. 

62.  Resolved,  Never  to  do  any  thing  but  my  duty,  and  then,  ac- 
cording to   Ephesians  vi.  6-8,  to  do   it  willingly  and   cheerfully,  as 
unto  the  Lord,  and  not  to  man  ;  knowing,  that  whatever  good  any  man 
doth,  the  same  shall  he  receive  of  the  Lord. 

63.  On  the  supposition  that  there  never  was  to  be  but  one  individ- 
ual in  the  world  at  any  one  time  who  was  properly  a  complete  Chris- 
tian,  in   all   respects  of  a  right  stamp,   having   Christianity  always 
shining  in  its  true  lustre,  and  appearing  excellent  and   lovely,  from 
whatever  part,  and  under  whatever  character  viewed;  —  Resolved,  to 
act  just  as  I  would  do,  if  I  strove  with  all  my  might  to  be  that  one, 
who  should  live  in  my  time.7 

64.  Resolved,  When  I  find  those  "  groanings  which  cannot  be 
uttered,"  of  which  the  Apostle  speaks,  and  those  "  breakings  of  soul 
for  the  longing  it  hath,"  of  which  the  Psalmist  speaks,  Psalm  cxix.  20, 
that  I  will  promote  them  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  and  that  I  will 
not  be  weary  of  earnestly  endeavoring  to  vent  my  desires,  nor  of  the 
repetitions  of  such  earnestness. 

65.  Resolved,  Very  much  to  exercise  myself  in  this,  all  my  life 
long,  namely,  with  the  greatest  openness  of  which  I  am  capable,  to 
declare  my  ways  to  God,  and  lay  open  my  soul  to  him,  all  my  sins, 
temptations,    difficulties,    sorrows,   fears,   hopes,    desires,   and   every 
thing,  and  every  circumstance,  according  to  Dr.  Manton's  Sermon  on 
the  iigth  Psalm.8 

66.  Resolved,  That  I  will  endeavor  always  to  keep  a  benign  aspect, 
and  air  of  acting  and  speaking,  in  all  places  and  in  all  companies, 
except  it  should  so  happen  that  duty  requires  otherwise. 

67.  Resolved,  After  afflictions  to  inquire,  What  am  I  the  better  for 
them  ?  what  good  I  have  got  by  them,  and  what  I  might  have  got  by 
them. 

68.  Resolved,  To  confess  frankly  to  myself  all  that  which  I  find  in 
myself,  either  infirmity  or  sin ;  and,  if  it  be  what  concerns  religion, 
also  to  confess  the  whole  case  to  God,  and  implore  needed  help. 

69.  Resolved,  Always  to  do  that  which  I  shall  wish  I  had  done, 
when  I  see  others  do  it. 

70.  Let  there  be  something  of  benevolence  in  all  that  I  speak. 


NOTES    TO  JONATHAN  EDWARDS.  305 


NOTES  TO  JONATHAN   EDWARDS. 

FOR  a  general  introduction  to  the  Resolutions,  see  the  sketch  of  Edwards. 

The  lives  of  Franklin  and  Edwards  present  a  striking  and  instructive  con- 
trast. Franklin  lived  for  this  life;  Edwards  for  the  life  to  come.  Franklin 
aimed  at  worldly  success  ;  Edwards  at  moral  and  spiritual  excellence.  Frank- 
lin stored  his  mind  with  maxims  of  practical  wisdom  ;  Edwards  with  the  moral 
precepts  of  the  Scriptures.  Franklin  led  a  busy  life  among  men,  seeking  to 
improve  their  material  condition;  Edwards  lived  in  communion  with  God, 
seeking  to  grow  in  spiritual  wisdom  and  culture.  Both  lives,  were,  perhaps, 
a  little  one-sided.  It  would  have  been  better  for  Franklin  if  he  had  paid 
more  attention  to  moral  and  spiritual  truth.  His  character  would  have  gained 
in  completeness  and  beauty ;  and  his  life  would  have  escaped  the  moral  ob- 
liquities with  which  it  is  stained.  It  would  have  been  better  for  Edwards  if 
his  piety  had  been  more  genial.  His  character  would  have  gained  in  attrac- 
tiveness, and  his  life  would  have  appealed  more  strongly  to  the  sympathies  of 
men. 

Edwards  was  a  profound  student  of  the  Scripture.  Its  truths  had  become 
a  part  of  his  ordinary  store  of  thought  and  feeling.  These  Resolutions  seem 
to  have  been  original  productions,  growing  directly  out  of  his  own  religious 
life ;  yet  most  of  them  embody  Scripture  truth.  The  general  tone  of  them, 
however,  shows  a  Puritan  rigor  that  is  commonly  regarded  to-day  as  untrue 
alike  to  the  gospel  and  to  human  life.  But  this  rigor,  it  should  not  be  for- 
gotten, was  characteristic  of  the  best  religious  life  in  New  England  during  the 
Colonial  period. 

1.  "Whether  therefore  ye  eat,  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to 
the  glory  of  God."  —  I  Cor.  x.  31.     In  like  manner  nearly  every  resolution 
may  be  illustrated  from  the  Scriptures.     Under  favorable  circumstances,  such 
an  illustration  might  be  assigned  as  an  exercise. 

2.  This  and  the  following  resolution  show  the  Puritanic  type  of  faith. 
Such  habitual  meditation  on  death  is  not  urged  in  the  Scripture,  nor  is  it 
helpful  to  the  life  and  character. 

3.  This  resolution  savors  of  what  has  been  called  "  other-worldliness." 
The  best  preparation  for  happiness  in  the  other  world  is  a  faithful  discharge 
of  our  duty  in  all  the  relations  of  this  world. 

4.  By  assurance  is  here  meant  full  confidence  in  God's  favor. 

5.  This  resolution  again  reminds  us  of  the  exaggerated  Puritanism  that 
found  expression  in  the  so-called  "  Blue  Laws,"  some  of  the  requirements  of 


306  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

which  were  as  follows  :  "  No  one  shall  run  on  the  Sabbath  day,  or  shall  walk 
in  his  garden  or  elsewhere,  except  reverently  to  and  from  meeting.  No  one 
shall  travel,  cook  victuals,  make  beds,  sweep  house,  cut  hair  or  shave  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  No  woman  shall  kiss  her  child  on  the  Sabbath  or  fasting  day." 

6.  This  seems  to  bring  out  clearly  the  one-sidedness  of  Edwards's  life. 
Religion  is  only  a  part  of  life.     It  is  not  so  much  an  end  in  itself  as  a  means 
to  ennoble  character  and  sanctify  human  relations.     When  religion  is  viewed 
otherwise  than  in  relation  to  the  common  duties  of  life,  it  is  apt  to  degenerate 
into  asceticism. 

7.  From  this  and  preceding  resolutions,  it  will  appear  that  Edwards's 
type  of  piety  was  too  self-centred.     He  was  continually  thinking  of  himself, 
of  his  state  of  mind,  and  of  his  spiritual  attainments  and  deficiencies.     It  may 
be  questioned  whether  this  attitude  of  mind  is  best.     We  should  think  more 
of  God  and  of  duty,  and  then  our  inward  states  will  largely  take  care  of 
themselves. 

8.  The  Rev.  Thomas  Manton,  D.D.,  was  a  distinguished  Puritan  preacher 
in  England.     He  was  born  in    1620,  and   died   in  1677.      One  of  his  most 
admired  works  is  "  CXC.  Sermons  on  the  CXIX.  Psalm." 


THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  307 


V. 


SELECTION   FROM   JEFFERSON. 

A  DECLARATION  BY  THE  REPRESENTATIVES  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES 
OF  AMERICA  IN  GENERAL  CONGRESS  ASSEMBLED. 

WHEN,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  necessary  for 
one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands  which  have  connected  them 
with  another,  and  to  assume  among  the  powers  of  the  earth  the  sepa- 
rate and  equal  station  to  which  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  nature's  God 
entitle  them,  a  decent '  respect  to  the  opinions  of  mankind  requires  that 
they  should  declare  the  causes  which  impel  them  to  the  separation. 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident :  that  all  men  are  created 
equal;2  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with  [inherent  and]3 
inalienable  rights ;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit 
of  happiness ;  that  to  secure  these  rights,  governments  are  instituted 
among  men,  deriving  their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  gov- 
erned ;  that  whenever  any  forrh  of  government  becomes  destructive  of 
these  ends,  it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and 
to  institute  new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on  such  principles, 
and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall  seem  most 
likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness.  Prudence,  indeed,  will  dic- 
tate that  governments  long  established  should  not  be  changed  for 
light  and  transient  causes ;  and  accordingly  all  experience  hath  shown 
that  mankind  are  more  disposed  to  suffer  while  evils  are  sufferable, 
than  to  right  themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms  to  which  they  are 
accustomed.  But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  usurpations,  [begun 
at  a  distinguished  period  and]4  pursuing  invariably  the  same  object, 
evinces  a  design  to  reduce  them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their 
right,  it  is  their  duty  to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide 
new  guards  for  their  future  security.  Such  has  been  the  patient  suf- 
ferance of  these  colonies ;  and  such  is  now  the  necessity  which  con- 
strains them  to  [expunge]5  their  former  systems  of  government.  The 
history  of  the  present  king  of  Great  Britain6  is  a  history  of  [unre- 
mitting]7 injuries  and  usurpations,  [among  which  appears  no  solitary 


308  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

fact  to  contradict  the  uniform  tenor  of  the  rest,  but  all  have]8  in 
direct  object  the  establishment  of  an  absolute  tyranny  over  these 
states.  To  prove  this,  let  facts  be  submitted  to  a  candid  world,  [for 
the  truth  of  which  we  pledge  a  faith  yet  unsullied  by  falsehood]  .9 

He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws  the  most  wholesome  and  neces- 
sary for  the  public  good. 

He  has  forbidden  his  governors  to  pass  laws  of  immediate  and 
pressing  importance,  unless  suspended  in  their  operation  till  his  assent 
should  be  obtained ;  and,  when  so  suspended,  he  has  utterly  neglected 
to  attend  to  them. 

He  has  refused  to  pass  other  laws  for  the  accommodation  of  large 
districts  of  people,  unless  those  people  would  relinquish  the  right  of 
representation  in  the  legislature,  a  right  inestimable  to  them,  and  for- 
midable to  tyrants  only. 

He  has  called  together  legislative  bodies  at  places  unusual,  uncom- 
fortable, and  distant  from  the  repository  of  their  public  records,  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing  them  into  compliance  with  his  measures. 

He  has  dissolved  representative  houses  repeatedly  [and  continu- 
ally]10 for  opposing  with  manly  firmness  his  invasions  on  the  rights  of 
the  people. 

He  has  refused  for  a  long  time  after  such  dissolutions  to  cause 
others  to  be  elected,  whereby  the  legislative  powers,  incapable  of  an- 
nihilation, have  returned  to  the  people'  at  large  for  their  exercise,  the 
state  remaining,  in  the  meantime,  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  of  inva- 
sion from  without  and  convulsions  within. 

He  has  endeavored  to  prevent  the  population  of  these  states ;  for 
that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  naturalization  of  foreigners,  re- 
fusing to  pass  others  to  encourage  their  migrations  hither,  and  raising 
the  conditions  of  new  appropriations  of  lands. 

He  has  [suffered]11  the  administration  of  justice  [totally  to  cease 
in  some  of  these  states],  refusing  his  assent  to  laws  for  establishing 
judiciary  powers. 

He  has  made  [our]12  judges  dependent  on  his  will  alone  for  the 
tenure  of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their  salaries. 

He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  new  offices  [by  a  self-assumed 
power],13  and  sent  hither  swarms  of  new  officers  to  harass  our  people 
and  eat  out  their  substance. 

He  has  kept  among  us  in  times  of  peace  standing  armies  [and 
ships  of  war]14  without  the  consent  of  our  legislatures. 

He  has  affected  to  render  the  military  independent  of,  and  supe- 
rior to,  the  civil  power. 


THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  309 

He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdiction  foreign 
to  our  constitutions  and  unacknowledged  by  our  laws,  giving  his  as- 
sent to  their  acts  of  pretended  legislation  for  quartering  large  bodies 
of  armed  troops  among  us ;  for  protecting  them  by  a  mock  trial  from 
punishment  for  any  murders  which  they  should  commit  on  the  inhabi- 
tants of  these  states ;  for  cutting  off  our  trade  with  all  parts  of  the 
world ;  for  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent ;  for  depriving 
us  IS  of  the  benefits  of  trial  by  jury ;  for  transporting  us  beyond  seas 
to  be  tried  for  pretended  offences ;  for  abolishing  the  free  system  of 
English  laws  in  a  neighboring  province,  establishing  therein  an  arbi- 
trary government,  and  enlarging  its  boundaries,  so  as  to  render  it  at 
once  an  example  and  fit  instrument  for  introducing  the  same  absolute 
rule  into  these  [states]  ;'6  for  taking  away  our  charters,  abolishing  our 
most  valuable  laws,17  and  altering  fundamentally  the  forms  of  our  gov- 
ernments ;  for  suspending  our  own  legislatures,  and  declaring  them- 
selves invested  with  power  to  legislate  for  us  in  all  cases  whatsoever. 

He  has  abdicated  government  here,  [withdrawing  his  governors, 
and  declaring  us  out  of  his  allegiance  and  protection].18 

He  has  plundered  our  seas,  ravaged  our  coasts,  burnt  our  towns, 
and  destroyed  the  lives  of  our  people. 

He  is  at  this  time  transporting  large  armies  of  foreign  mercenaries 
to  complete  the  works  of  death,  desolation,  and  tyranny  already  begun 
with  circumstances  of  cruelty  and  perfidy  '9  unworthy  the  head  of  a 
civilized  nation. 

He  has  constrained  our  fellow  citizens  taken  captive  on  the  high 
seas,  to  bear  arms  against  their  country,  to  become  the  executioners  of 
their  friends  and  brethren,  or  to  fall  themselves  by  their  hands. 

He  has  20  endeavored  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants  of  our  frontiers, 
the  merciless  Indian  savages,  whose  known  rule  of  warfare  is  an 
undistinguished  destruction  of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  conditions  [of 
existence].21 

[He  has  incited  treasonable  insurrections  of  our  fellow  citizens, 
with  the  allurements  of  forfeiture  and  confiscation  of  our  property. 

He  has  waged  cruel  war  against  human  nature  itself,  violating  its 
most  sacred  rights  of  life  and  liberty  in  the  persons  of  a  distant  people 
who  never  offended  him,  captivating  and  carrying  them  into  slavery  in 
another  hemisphere,  or  to  incur  miserable  death  in  their  transportation 
thither.  This  piratical  warfare,  the  opprobrium  of  INFIDEL  powers,  is 
the  warfare  of  the  CHRISTIAN  king  of  Great  Britain.  Determined  to 
keep  open  a  market  where  MEN  should  be  bought  and  sold,  he  has 


3  I O  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

prostituted  his  negative  for  suppressing  every  legislative  attempt  to 
prohibit  or  to  restrain  this  execrable  commerce.  And  that  this  assem- 
blage of  horrors  might  want  no  fact  of  distinguished  die,  he  is  now  ex- 
citing these  very  people  to  rise  in  arms  among  us,  and  to  purchase  that 
liberty  of  which  he  has  deprived  them,  by  murdering  the  people  on 
whom  he  also  obtruded  them :  thus  paying  off  former  crimes  com- 
mitted against  the  LIBERTIES  of  one  people,  with  crimes  which  he 
urges  them  to  commit  against  the  LIVES  of  another.]22 

In  every  stage  of  these  oppressions  we  have  petitioned  for  redress 
in  the  most  humble  terms  :  our  repeated  petitions  have  been  answered 
only23  by  repeated  injuries. 

A  prince  whose  character  is  thus  marked  by  every  act  which  may 
define  a  tyrant  is  unfit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a  people  [who  mean  to  be 
free.  Future  ages  will  scarcely  believe  that  the  hardiness  of  one  man 
adventured,  within  the  short  compass  of  twelve  years  only,  to  lay  a 
foundation  so  broad  and  so  undisguised  for  tyranny  over  a  people  fos- 
tered and  fixed  in  principles  of  freedom.]24 

Nor  have  we  been  wanting  in  attentions  to  our  British  brethren. 
We  have  warned  them  from  time  to  time  of  attempts  by  their  legisla- 
ture to  extend  [a] 25  jurisdiction  over  [these  our  states].25  We  have 
reminded  them  of  the  circumstances  of  our  emigration  and  settlement 
here,  [no  one  of  which  could  warrant  so  strange  a  pretension :  that 
these  were  effected  at  the  expense  of  our  own  blood  and  treasure,  un- 
assisted by  the  wealth  or  strength  of  Great  Britain  :  that  in  constitut- 
ing indeed  our  several  forms  of  government,  we  had  adopted  one 
common  king,  thereby  laying  a  foundation  for  perpetual  league  and 
amity  with  them :  but  that  submission  to  their  parliament  was  no  part 
of  our  constitution,  nor  ever  an  idea,  if  history  may  be  credited : 
and]26  we27  appealed  to  their  native  justice  and  magnanimity  [as  well 
as  to]28  the  ties  of  one  common  kindred  to  disavow  these  usurpations 
which  [were  likely  to]29  interrupt  our  connection  and  correspondence. 
They  too  have  been  deaf  to  the  voice  of  justice  and  of  consanguinity, 
[and  when  occasions  have  been  given  them,  by  the  regular  course 
of  their  laws,  of  removing  from  their  councils  the  disturbers  of  our 
harmony,  they  have,  by  their  free  election,  re-established  them  in 
power.  At  this  very  time  too,  they  are  permitting  their  chief  magis- 
trate to  send  over  not  only  soldiers  of  our  own  common  blood,  but 
Scotch  and  foreign  mercenaries  to  invade  and  destroy  us.  These  facts 
have  given  the  last  stab  to  agonizing  affection,  and  manly  spirit  bids 
us  to  renounce  forever  these  unfeeling  brethren.  We  must  endeavor 


THE  DECLARA  TION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  3  1 1 

to  forget  our  former  love  for  them,  and  hold  them  as  we  hold  the  rest 
of  mankind,  enemies  in  war,  in  peace  friends.  We  might  have  been  a 
free  and  a  great  people  together ;  but  a  communication  of  grandeur 
and  of  freedom,  it  seems,  is  below  their  dignity.  Be  it  so,  since  they 
will  have  it.  The  road  to  happiness  and  to  glory  is  open  to  us  too. 
We  will  tread  it  apart  from  them,  and]30  acquiesce  in  the  necessity 
which  denounces  our  [eternal]3'  separation. 

We  therefore  the  representatives  of  the  United  States  of  America 
in  General  Congress  assembled,  appealing  to  the  supreme  Judge  of 
the  world  for  the  rectitude  of  our  intentions,  do  in  the  name,  and  by 
the  authority  of  the  good  people  of  these  [states  reject  and  renounce 
all  allegiance  and  subjection  to  the  kings  of  Great  Britain  and  all 
others  who  may  hereafter  claim  by,  through  or  under  them ;  we  ut- 
terly dissolve  all  political  connection  which  may  heretofore  have  sub- 
sisted between  us  and  the  people  or  parliament  of  Great  Britain :  and 
finally  we  do  assert  and  declare  these  colonies  to  be  free  and  indepen- 
dent states],32  and  that  as  free  and  independent  states,  they  have  full 
power  to  levy  war,  conclude  peace,  contract  alliances,  establish  com- 
merce, and  to  do  all  other  acts  and  things  which  independent  states 
may  of  right  do. 

And  for  the  support  of  this  declaration^  we  mutually  pledge  to 
each  other  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor. 


312  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES   TO   THE  DECLARATION   OF   INDEPENDENCE. 

THE  leading  facts  connected  with  the  preparation  and  adoption  of  the 
Declaration  have  already  been  given.  In  every  respect  it  is  a  remarkable 
document.  It  is  methodical  in  its  structure,  consisting  of  (i)  a  formal  intro- 
duction, (2)  a  statement  of  fundamental  principles,  (3)  a  striking  array  of 
facts,  and  (4)  a  practical  conclusion.  Its  language  is  correct,  clear,  and 
strong.  It  is  a  powerful  argument  suffused  with  emotion.  This  latter  ele- 
ment gives  it  the  rhetorical  form,  which  has  been  criticised  as  excessive.  It 
was  admirably  suited  to  its  purpose,  and  was  at  once  accepted  by  the  Ameri- 
can people  as  a  fitting  and  triumphant  statement  of  their  cause. 

The  Declaration  had  a  happy  effect  upon  the  colonies.  It  gave  them  a 
definite  object,  and  inspired  a  corresponding  resolution  and  courage.  Whether 
read  to  the  army  or  to  assemblies  of  the  people,  it  aroused  extraordinary 
enthusiasm.  It  was  everywhere  celebrated  with  festive  gayeties  and  devout 
thanksgivings. 

The  originality  of  the  document  has  unjustly  been  called  into  question. 
As  we  have  seen  in  our  study  of  Jefferson  and  of  the  Revolutionary  period, 
the  principles  and  facts  it  contains  were  a  common  possession  of  the  colonial 
patriots.  Its  originality  consists  in  its  incomparable  arrangement  and  state- 
ment of  these  facts  and  principles.  Under  the  circumstances,  no  other  origi- 
nality was  desirable  or  possible. 

For  two  days  prior  to  its  adoption,  the  Declaration  passed  through  a  fiery 
ordeal  of  criticism.  Not  only  every  paragraph,  but  every  sentence  and  every 
word,  was  subjected  to  searching  and  captious  examination.  Numerous  ex- 
pressions were  changed  ;  and  the  omissions  amount  to  nearly  one-third  of  the 
entire  paper.  Upon  the  whole,  the  result  of  this  minute  criticism  was  an 
almost  faultless  perfection  of  form.  The  Declaration,  as  given  in  the  text,  is 
the  original  draft  prepared  by  Jefferson  ;  and  the  notes  are  chiefly  concerned 
with  the  changes  introduced. 

When  the  Declaration  was  under  discussion,  Jefferson  remained  silent. 
As  we  have  seen,  he  was  not  strong  as  a  speaker.  But  who  can  doubt  the 
intense  interest  with  which  he  followed  the  discussion  ?  According  to  his 
judgment,  John  Adams  "was  the  colossus  in  that  debate."  He  fought 
"  fearlessly  for  every  word  of  it —  and  with  a  power  to  which  a  mind  mascu- 
line and  impassioned  in  its  conceptions  —  a  will  of  torrent-like  force  —  a  her- 
oism which  only  glared  forth  more  luridly  at  the  approach  of  danger —  and  a 
patriotism  whose  burning  throb  was  rather  akin  to  the  feeling  of  a  parent 


NOTES    TO   DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.        313 

fighting  over  his  offspring,  than  to  the  colder  sentiment  of  tamer  animals,  lent 
resistless  sway." 

Jefferson  was  keenly  sensitive  to  the  attacks  that  were  made  upon  the 
Declaration.  During  one  of  the  debates,  he  was  sitting  by  Franklin,  who 
noticed  that  he  was  writhing  a  little  under  some  acrimonious  criticisms,  and 
who  comforted  him  with  a  characteristic  anecdote.  "  I  have  made  it  a  rule," 
said  Franklin,  "whenever  in  my  power,  to  avoid  becoming  draughtsman  of 
papers  to  be  reviewed  by  a  public  body.  I  took  my  lesson  from  an  incident 
which  I  will  relate  to  you.  When  I  was  a  journeyman  printer,  one  of  my  com- 
panions, an  apprentice  hatter,  having  served  out  his  time,  was  about  to  open 
shop  for  himself.  His  first  concern  was  to  have  a  handsome  sign-board,  with 
a  proper  inscription.  He  composed  it  in  these  words  :  '  John  Thompson, 
Hatter,  makes  and  sells  hats  for  ready  money,"  with  a  figure  of  a  hat  sub- 
joined ;  but  he  thought  he  would  submit  it  to  his  friends  for  their  amend- 
ments. The  first  he  showed  it  to  thought  the  word  '  Hatter '  tautologous, 
because  followed  by  the  words,  '  makes  hats,'  which  show  he  was  a  hatter.  It 
was  struck  out.  The  next  observed  that  the  word  '  makes '  might  as  well  be 
omitted,  because  his  customers  would  not  care  who  made  the  hats.  If  good 
and  to  their  mind,  they  would  buy,  by  whomsoever  made.  He  struck  it  out. 
A  third  thought  the  words  '  for  ready  money '  were  useless,  as  it  was  not  the 
custom  of  the  place  to  sell  on  credit.  Every  one  who  purchased  expected  to 
pay.  They  were  parted  with,  and  the  inscription  now  stood,  'John  Thompson 
sells  hats.'  '  Sells  hats  !  '  says  his  next  friend  ;  '  why,  nobody  will  expect  you 
to  give  them  away  ;  what  then  is  the  use  of  that  word  ?  '  It  was  stricken  out, 
and  '  hats '  followed  it,  the  rather  as  there  was  one  painted  on  the  board. 
So  the  inscription  was  reduced  ultimately  to  'John  Thompson,'  with  the 
figure  of  a  hat  subjoined." 

1 .  Decent  =  proper,  becoming.     From  Latin  decere,  to  be  fitting  or  be- 
coming, through  the  French. 

2.  Equal,  not  in  intellect  or  body,  nor  in  the  circumstances  of  birth,  but 
in  civil  freedom.     The  distinctions  of  master  and  slave,  nobles  and  commons, 
kings  and  subjects,  are  not  made  by  nature.     They  are  artificial  distinctions  ; 
and  though  answering  a  good  purpose  for  a  time,  they  are  not  permanent. 
This  statement  of  the  Declaration  has  often  been  misunderstood. 

3.  "  Certain  "  was  substituted  for  the  words  in  brackets. 

4.  The  words  in  brackets  were  struck  out,  with  a  perceptible  gain  in 
force.     The  phraseology  is  substantially  the  same  as  in  "The  Summary  View 
of  the  Rights  of  British  America."     See  sketch  of  Jefferson. 

5.  "  Alter  "  was  substituted,  with  a  gain  in  clearness  and  precision. 

6.  Jefferson  had  written   "his  present  majesty;"  it  was  John  Adams 
who  suggested  the  wording  of  the  text,  which  is  an  improvement. 

7.  '•'•Repeated''''  was  substituted,  with  a  decided  gain  in  precision. 


3  1 4  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

8.  The  sentence  in  brackets  was  struck  out,  the  phrase  "  all  having" 
being  inserted  to  retain  the  grammatical  connection.     There  is  a  perceptible 
gain  in  brevity  and  force. 

9.  This  last  sentence  was  wisely  omitted. 

10.  Omitted,  with  evident  gain  in  precision. 

11.  "  Obstructed"  was  inserted  here,  and  "fry"  took  the  place  of  the 
following  bracketed  clause.     There  is  a  gain  in  precision,  brevity,  and  force. 

12.  Omitted,  at  the  suggestion  of  Franklin. 

13.  Omitted,  with  a  gain  in  force. 

14.  Omitted. 

15.  "  In  many  cases  "  was  inserted  after  "us,"  in  order  to  conform  the 
statement  exactly  to  the  facts. 

16.  "  Colonies"  was  substituted. 

17.  This  phrase,  "abolishing  our  most  valuable  laws,"  was  inserted  by 
Franklin. 

1 8.  In  place  of  the  bracketed  expression,  the  following  was  inserted  : 
"  by  declaring  us  out  of  his  protection  and  waging  war  against  us."     The 
improvement  is  obvious. 

19.  After  "perfidy"   was  inserted:     "  scarcely  paralleled  in  the  most 
barbarous  ages,  and  totally."    In  this  case,  the  addition  is  a  doubtful  improve- 
ment. 

20.  Here  was  inserted  :   "  excited  domestic  insurrection  among  us,  and 
Aas."     This  addition  takes  the  place  of  the  following  paragraph. 

21.  Omitted  as  redundant. 

22.  In  his  Autobiography  Jefferson  says  :   "The  clause  reprobating  the 
enslaving  the  inhabitants  of  Africa  was  struck  out  in  complaisance  to  South 
Carolina  and  Georgia,  who  had  never  attempted  to  restrain  the  importation  of 
slaves,  and  who,  on  the  contrary,  still  wished  to  continue  it.     Our  Northern 
brethren  also,  I  believe,  felt  a  little  tender  under  these  censures ;   for  though 
their  people  had  very  few  slaves  themselves,  yet  they  had  been  pretty  consid- 
erable carriers  of  them  to  others." 

23.  "  Only"  was  inserted  by  Franklin. 

24.  Omitted,    and   the    adjective    "free"    inserted    before    '•'•people." 
Greater  brevity  and  force  are  thus  secured. 

25.  In  place  of    "a"  was  substituted  "an  unwarrantable;"  and  in 
in  place  of  "these  our  stales,"  the  pronoun  "  us." 

26.  Omitted. 

27.  After  "we"  insert  "have." 

28.  In  place  of  this  phrase  was  inserted  :   "and  we  have  conjured  them 
by." 

29.  "  Would  i nevitably  "  was  substituted,  with  decided  gain  in  force. 

30.  What  is  bracketed  was  omitted  ;   before  "acquiesce"  was  inserted, 


NOTES    TO  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.        315 

"  We  must  therefore."  In  reference  to  this  omission  Jefferson  says  :  "The 
pusillanimous  idea  that  we  had  friends  in  England  worth  keeping  terms  with, 
still  haunted  the  minds  of  many.  For  this  reason,  those  passages  which  con- 
veyed censures  on  the  people  of  England  were  struck  out,  lest  they  should 
give  them  offence." 

31.  Omitted,  and  after  "separation"  was  added  :   "  and  hold  them  as 
we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind,  enemies  in  war,  in  peace  friends." 

32.  Here  was  inserted,  as  a  decided  improvement,  the  following  :   "  col- 
onies, solemnly  publish  and  declare,  that  these  united  colonies  are,  and  of 
right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  states  ;  that  they  are  absolved  from  all 
allegiance  to  the  British  crown,  and  that  all  political  connection  between  them 
and  the  state  of  Great  Britain  is,  and  ought  to  be,  totally  dissolved." 

33.  Here  was  inserted,  "  with  a  firm  reliance  on  the  protection  of  divine 
Providence." 


316  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


VI. 

SELECTION    FROM    HAMILTON. 

THE   FEDERALIST. 
NUMBER  I. — INTRODUCTION 

AFTER  full  experience  of  the  insufficiency  of  the  existing  federal 
government,1  you2  are  invited  to  deliberate  upon  a  new  Constitution 
for  the  United  States  of  America.  The  subject  speaks  its  own  impor- 
tance; comprehending  in  its  consequences  nothing  less  than  the  ex- 
istence of  the  UNION,  the  safety  and  welfare  of  the  parts  of  which  it  is 
composed,  the  fate  of  an  empire,  in  many  respects,  the  most  interesting 
in  the  world.3  It  has  been  frequently  remarked,  that  it  seems  to  have 
been  reserved  to  the  people  of  this  country  to  decide,  by  their  conduct 
and  example,  the  important  question,  whether  societies  of  men  are 
really  capable  or  not,  of  establishing  good  government  from  reflection 
and  choice,  or  whether  they  are  forever  destined  to  depend  for  their 
political  constitutions,  on  accident  and  force.  If  there  be4  any  truth 
in  the  remark,  the  crisis  at  which  we  are  arrived  may,  with  propriety, 
be  regarded  as  the  period  when  that  decision  is  to  be  made ;  and  a 
wrong  election  5  of  the  part  we  shall  act  may,  in  this  view,  deserve  to 
be  considered  as  the  general  misfortune  of  mankind. 

This  idea,  by  adding  the  inducements  of  philanthropy  to  those  of 
patriotism,  will  heighten  the  solicitude  which  all  considerate  and  good 
men  must  feel  for  the  event.6  Happy  will  it  be  if  our  choice  should  be 
directed  by  a  judicious  estimate  of  our  true  interests,  uninfluenced  by 
considerations  foreign  to  the  public  good.  But  this  is  more  ardently 
to  be  wished  for,  than  seriously  to  be  expected.  The  plan  offered  to 
our  deliberation  affects  too  many  particular  interests,  innovates  upon  7 
too  many  local  institutions,  not  to  involve  in  its  discussion  a  variety  of 
objects  extraneous  to  its  merits,  and  of  views,  passions  and  prejudices 
little  favorable  to  the  discovery  of  truth.8 

Among  the  most  formidable9  of  the  obstacles9  which  the  new 
Constitution  will  have  to  encounter,  may  readily  be  distinguished  the 


THE   FEDERALIST.  317 

obvious  interest  of  a  certain  class  of  men  in  every  State  to  resist  all 
changes  which  may  hazard  a  diminution  of  the  power,  emolument,  and 
consequence  I0  of  the  offices  they  hold  under  the  State  establishments 
—  and  the  perverted  ambition  of  another  class  of  men,  who  will  either 
hope  to  aggrandize  themselves  by  the  confusions  of  their  country,  or 
will  flatter  themselves  with  fairer  prospects  of  elevation  from  the  sub- 
division of  the  empire  into  several  partial  confederacies,  than  from  its 
union  under  one  government. 

It  is  not,  however,  my  design  to  dwell  upon  observations  of  this 
nature.  I  am  aware  it  would  be  disingenuous  "  to  resolve  indiscrimi- 
nately the  opposition  of  any  set  of  men  into  interested  or  ambitious 
views,  merely  because  their  situations  might  subject  them  to  suspicion. 
Candor  will  oblige  us  to  admit,  that  even  such  men  may  be  actuated 
by  upright  intentions ;  and  it  cannot  be  doubted,  that  much  of  the 
opposition,  which  has  already  shown  itself,  or  that  may  hereafter  make 
its  appearance,  will  spring  from  sources  blameless  at  least,  if  not  re- 
spectable—  the  honest  errors  of  minds  led  astray  by  preconceived 
jealousies  and  fears.12  So  numerous  indeed  and  so  powerful  are  the 
causes  which  serve  to  give  a  false  bias  to  the  judgment,  that  we,  upon 
many  occasions,  see  wise  and  good  men  on  the  wrong  as  well  as  on 
the  right  side  of  questions  of  the  first  magnitude  to  society.  This 
circumstance,  if  duly  attended  to,  would  always  furnish  a  lesson  of 
moderation  to  those,  who  are  engaged  in  any  controversy,  however 
well  persuaded  of  being  in  the  right.  And  a  further  reason  for  caution 
in  this  respect,13  might  be  drawn  from  the  reflection,  that  we  are  not 
always  sure,  that  those  who  advocate  the  truth  are  actuated  by  purer 
principles  than  their  antagonists.'4  Ambition,  avarice,  personal  ani- 
mosity, party  opposition,  and  many  other  motives,  not  more  laudable 
than  these,  are  apt  to  operate  as  well  upon  those  who  support,  as  upon 
those  who  oppose,  the  right  side  of  a  question.  Were  there  not  even 
these  inducements  to  moderation,  nothing  could  be  more  ill-judged  '5 
than  that  intolerant  spirit,  which  has,  at  all  times,  characterized  politi- 
cal parties.  For,  in  politics  as  in  religion,  it  it  equally  absurd16  to 
aim  at  making  proselytes  by  fire  and  sword.  Heresies  in  either  can 
rarely  be  cured  by  persecution. 

And  yet,  just  as  these  sentiments  must  appear  to  candid17  men, 
we  have  already  sufficient  indications  that  it  will  happen  in  this,  as  in 
all  former  cases  of  great  national  discussion.  A  torrent  of  angry  and 
malignant l8  passions  will  be  let  loose.  To  judge  from  the  conduct 
of  the  opposite  parties,'9  we  shall  be  led  to  conclude,  that  they  will 


318  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

mutually  hope  to  evince  the  justness  of  their  opinions,  and  to  increase 
the  number  of  their  converts,  by  the  loudness  of  their  declamations, 
and  by  the  bitterness  of  their  invectives.20  An  enlightened  zeal  for 
the  energy  and  efficiency21  of  government,  will  be  stigmatized  as  the 
offspring  of  a  temper  fond  of  power,  and  hostile  to  the  principles  of 
liberty.  An  over-scrupulous  jealousy22  of  danger  to  the  rights  of  the 
people,  which  is  more  commonly  the  fault  of  the  head  than  of  the 
heart,  will  be  represented  as  mere  pretence  and  artifice 23  —  the  stale 
bait  for  popularity  at  the  expense  of  public  good.  It  will  be  forgotten, 
on  the  one  hand,  that  jealousy  is  the  usual  concomitant  of  violent  love, 
and  that  the  noble  enthusiasm  of  liberty  is  too  apt  to  be  infected  with 
a  spirit  of  narrow  and  illiberal24  distrust.  On  the  other  hand,  it  will 
be  equally  forgotten,  that  the  rigor  of  government  is  essential  to  the 
security  of  liberty ;  that  in  the  contemplation  of  a  sound  and  well- 
informed  judgment,  their25  interests  can  never  be  separated  ;  and  that 
a  dangerous  ambition  more  often  lurks  behind  the  specious  mask  of 
zeal  for  the  rights  of  the  people,  than  under  the  forbidding  appear- 
ances of  zeal  for  the  firmness  and  efficiency  of  government.  History 
will  teach  us,  that  the  former  has  been  found  a  much  more  certain 
road  to  the  introduction  of  despotism  than  the  latter,  and  that  of 
those  men  who  have  overturned  the  liberties  of  republics,  the  greatest 
number  have  begun  their  career,  by  paying  an  obsequious  court  to  the 
people  ;  commencing  demagogues,  and  ending  tyrants. 

In  the  course  of  the  preceding  observations  it  has  been  my  aim, 
fellow  citizens,  to  put  you  upon  your  guard  against  all  attempts,  from 
whatever  quarter,  to  influence  your  decision  in  a  matter  of  the  utmost 
moment  to  your  welfare,  by  any  impressions,  other  than  those  which 
may  result  from  the  evidence  of  truth.  You  will,  no  doubt,  at  the 
same  time,  have  collected  from  the  general  scope  of  them,  that  they 
proceed  from  a  source  not  unfriendly  to  the  new  Constitution.  Yes, 
my  countrymen,  I  own  to  you,  that,  after  having  given  it  an  attentive 
consideration,  I  am  clearly  of  opinion,  it  is  your  interest  to  adopt  it. 
I  am  convinced,  that  this  is  the  safest  course  for  your  liberty,  your 
dignity,  and  your  happiness.  I  affect  not  reserves  which  I  do  not 
feel.26  I  will  not  amuse  you  with  an  appearance  of  deliberation,  when 
I  have  decided.  I  frankly  acknowledge  to  you  my  convictions,  and  I 
will  freely  lay  before  you  the  reasons  on  which  they  are  founded.  The 
consciousness  of  good  intentions  disdains  ambiguity.  I  shall  not  how- 
ever multiply  professions  on  this  head.  My  motives  must  remain  in 
the  depository  of  my  own  breast ;  my  arguments  will  be  open  to  all, 


THE  FEDERALIST.  319 

and  may  be  judged  of  by  all.     They  shall  at  least  be  offered  in  a  spirit 
which  will  not  disgrace  the  cause  of  truth. 

I  propose,  in  a  series  of  papers,  to  discuss  the  following  interest- 
ing particulars  :  The  utility  of 'the  UNION  to  your  political  prosperity ; 2? 
the  insufficiency  of  the  present  confederation  to  preserve  that  Union  ; 2& 
the  necessity  of  a  government  at  least  equally  energetic  -with  the  one 
proposed,  to  the  attainment  of  this  object  /  2C)  the  conformity  of  the  pro- 
posed Constitution  to  the  true  principles  of  republican  government ;  ^ 
its  analogy  to  your  own  State  Constitution  ;  and  lastly,  the  additional 
security,  which  its  adoption  will  afford  to  tJie  preservation  of  'that  spe- 
cies of  government,  to  liberty,  and  to  property?1 

In  the  progress  of  this  discussion,  I  shall  endeavor  to  give  a  sat- 
isfactory answer  to  all  the  objections  which  shall  have  made  their 
appearance,  that  may  seem  to  have  any  claim  to  attention. 

It  may  perhaps  be  thought  superfluous  to  offer  arguments  to  prove 
the  utility  of  the  Union,  a  point,  no  doubt,  deeply  engraved  on  the 
hearts  of  the  great  body  of  the  people  in  every  State,  and  one  which,  it 
may  be  imagined,  has  no  adversaries.  But  the  fact  is,  that  we  already 
hear  it  whispered  in  the  private  circles  of  those  who  oppose  the  new 
Constitution,  that  the  thirteen  States  are  of  too  great  extent  for  any 
general  system,  and  that  we  must,  of  necessity,  resort  to  separate  con- 
federacies of  distinct  portions  of  the  whole.  This  doctrine  will,  in 
all  probability,  be  gradually  propagated,  till  it  has  votaries  enough  to 
countenance  its  open  avowal.  For  nothing  can  be  more  evident,  to 
those  who  are  able  to  take  an  enlarged  view  of  the  subject,  than  the 
alternative  of  an  adoption  of  the  Constitution  or  a  dismemberment  of 
the  Union.  It  may,  therefore,  be  essential  to  examine  particularly 
the  advantages  of  that  Union,  the  certain  evils,  and  the  probable  dan- 
gers, to  which  every  State  will  be  exposed  from  its  dissolution.  This 
shall  accordingly  be  done. 

PUBLIUS. 


320  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES  TO  THE   "FEDERALIST." 

FOR  a  statement  of  the  circumstances  under  which  the  "  Federalist  "  was 
written,  and  an  estimate  of  its  literary  character,  consult  the  sketch  of 
Hamilton. 

The  papers  composing  the  "  Federalist"  were  published  in  The  Indepen- 
dent Journal  and  other  New  York  papers  in  1787  and  1788.  As  a  rule,  a 
new  number  appeared  every  three  days.  The  first  number  was  written  by 
Hamilton  in  the  cabin  of  a  little  vessel,  as  he  was  gliding  down  the  Hudson. 
The  essays  were  at  first  signed  "  A  Citizen  ;  "  but  the  writers  soon  afterwards, 
following  the  fashion  of  the  time,  adopted  the  classical  name  of  "  Publius." 

Sickness  prevented  Jay  from  doing  his  full  share  of  the  work.  He  wrote 
only  five  numbers.  The  burden  fell  upon  Hamilton  and  Madison,  the  former 
writing  fifty-one  and  the  latter  twenty-nine.  The  authorship  of  a  few  of  the 
papers  has  been  disputed.  As  a  general  thing,  each  writer  sent  his  article  to 
the  printer  without  submitting  it  to  his  colleagues. 

The  comparative  literary  excellence  of  the  contributions  of  Hamilton  and 
Madison  has  been  made  the  subject  of  discussion.  The  literary  merits  of  the 
tsvo  writers  are  so  nearly  equal  that  it  is  difficult  to  decide  between  them. 
Hamilton  has,  perhaps,  greater  force,  and  Madison  greater  elegance.  To 
criticize  Madison's  style  as  "  stiff,  harsh,  and  obscure  "  is  grossly  unjust. 

The  "Federalist"  has  met  with  the  highest  commendations  abroad  as 
well  as  at  home.  Guizot  said,  "  that  in  the  application  of  the  elementary 
principles  of  government  to  practical  administration,  it  was  the  greatest  work 
known  to  him."  It  is  described  in  an  early  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review 
as  "a  work  little  known  in  Europe,  but  which  exhibits  a  profundity  of  re- 
search and  an  acuteness  of  understanding  which  would  have  done  honor  to 
the  most  illustrious  statesmen  of  modern  times."  In  his  "  Commentaries  on 
American  Law,"  Chancellor  Kent  says  :  "  I  know  not  of  any  work  on  the 
principles  of  free  government  that  is  to  be  compared  in  instruction  and  in 
intrinsic  value  to  this  small  and  unpretending  volume  of  the  '  Federalist ;  ' 
not  even  if  we  resort  to  Aristotle,  Cicero,  Macchiavelli,  Montesquieu,  Milton, 
Locke,  or  Burke."  Jefferson  pronounced  it  "the  best  commentary  on  the 
principles  of  government  which  was  ever  written." 

NUMBER  I. 

I.  This  refers  to  the  government  under  the  Articles  of  Confederation  of 
1777.  Consult  the  general  survey  of  the  Revolutionary  period. 


NOTES    TO    THE   FEDERALIST.  321 

2.  At  first  the  essays  of  the  "  Federalist  "  were  addressed  to  the  people 
of  New  York,  but  afterwards  to  the  people  of  the  United  States. 

3.  Corresponding  to  the  importance  of  the  subject,  the  style  rises  to  a 
high  degree  of  dignity. 

4.  Note  the  significance  of  the  subjunctive.    What  would  be  the  difference 
in  meaning  if  the  indicative  were  used  ? 

5.  Give  a  synonym  for  "  election.'''     Pass  over  no  word  the  exact  mean- 
ing of  which  is  not  understood. 

6.  What  is  the  meaning  of   "event"?      Discriminate  between  event, 
occurrence,  and  incident,  and  note  the  precision  of  Hamilton's  diction. 

7.  Explain  "  innovates  upon." 

8.  Note  the  precision  secured  in  this  sentence,   and  throughout  the 
"  Federalist,"  by  the  use  of  the  Latin  element  of  our  language. 

9.  Consult  the  etymology  of  these  words,  and  point  out   their   force. 
Why  is  "  obstacles  "   better   here   than   impediments,  diffictilties,  or  hinder- 
ances  I' 

10.  What  is  the  difference  between  "  emolument"  and  "  consequence"  ? 
Note  Hamilton's  comprehensive  and  discriminating  thought. 

11.  The  exact  meaning  of  "  disingenuous  "? 

12.  May  "  the  honest  errors  of  minds  led  astray  by  preconceived  jealous- 
ies and  fears"  be  "  blameless  "  without  being  '•'•respectable"?     What  is  the 
meaning  of  "  respectable  "  in  this  case  ? 

13.  I  n  what  "  respect ' '  ? 

14.  Why  is  "antagonists"  here  better  than  opponents?    Discriminate 
between  adversary,  enemy,  opponent,  and  antagonist. 

15.  Synonym  for  "  ill-judged." 

16.  Why  is  "absurd"   better  than  irrational  or  foolish  in  this  case  ? 
What  is  the  force  of  preposterous  ? 

17.  Why  is  "  candid"  exactly  the  right  word  ? 

18.  What  is  the  difference  between  '•'•angry"  and  "malignant"  pas- 
sions ? 

19.  Federalists  and  Anti-Federalists. 

20.  Note  the  manner  in  which  the  parallelism  of  structure  has  been  pre- 
served in  this  sentence.     It  is  evident  that   Hamilton  had  been  a  careful 
student  of  rhetoric. 

21.  What  is  the  difference  between  "energy"  and  "efficiency'1'? 

22.  Synonym  of  "jealousy  "  in  this  case. 

23.  Discriminate  between  "pretence  "  and  "artifice."    Note  Hamilton's 
clear  thought  and  careful  diction. 

24.  What  is  the  meaning  of  "  illiberal"  here  ? 

25.  To  what  does  "  their  "  refer  ? 

26.  Paraphrase  this  sentence  so  as  to  bring  out  the  meaning  more  clearly. 


322  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

27.  Discussed  in  numbers  2-14. 

28.  Numbers  15-22. 

29.  Numbers  23—35. 

30.  Numbers  36—84. 

31.  The  last  two  subjects  were  treated  of  in  the  last  number  in  a  very 
brief  way,  because  they  had  been  considered  fully,  though  incidentally,   in 
the  progress  of  the  work. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  323 


VII. 

SELECTIONS    FROM    IRVING. 

RIP  VAN   WINKLE. 
A  POSTHUMOUS  WRITING  OF  DIEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER 

By  Woden,  God  of  Saxons, 

From  whence  comes  Wensday,  that   is  Wodensday, 

Truth  is  a  thing  that  ever  I  will  keep 

Unto  thylke  day  in  which  I  creep  into 

My  sepulchre. 

CARTWRIGHT.1 

WHOEVER  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson,  must  remember  the 
Kaatskill2  mountains.  They  are  a  dismembered  branch  of  the  great 
Appalachian  family,  and  are  seen  away  to  the  west  of  the  river,  swell- 
ing up  to  a  noble  height,  and  lording  it  over  the  surrounding  country. 
Every  change  of  season,  every  change  of  weather,  indeed  every  hour 
of  the  day,  produces  some  change  in  the  magical  hues  and  shapes  of 
these  mountains  ;  and  they  are  regarded  by  all  the  good  wives,  far  and 
near,  as  perfect  barometers.  When  the  weather  is  fair  and  settled, 
they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print  their  bold  outlines  on 
the  clear  evening  sky ;  but  sometimes,  when  the  rest  of  the  landscape 
is  cloudless,  they  will  gather  a  hood  of  gray  vapors  about  their  sum- 
mits, which,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  will  glow  and  light  up 
like  a  crown  of  glory. 

At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyager  may  have  descried 
the  light  smoke  curling  up  from  a  village,  whose  shingle  roofs  gleam 
among  the  trees,  just  where  the  blue  tints  of  the  upland  melt  away  into 
the  fresh  green  of  the  nearer  landscape.  It  is  a  little  village  of  great 
antiquity,  having  been  founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch  colonists,  in  the 
early  times  of  the  province,  just  about  the  beginning  of  the  government 
of  the  good  Peter  Stuyvesant3  (may  he  rest  in  peace  !)  ;  and  there  were 
some  of  the  houses  of  the  original  settlers  standing  within  a  few  years, 
built  of  small  yellow  bricks  brought  from  Holland,  having  latticed  win- 
dows and  gable  fronts,  surmounted  with  weathercocks. 


324  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TUA'E. 

In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  very  houses  (which  to  tell 
the  precise  truth,  was  sadly  time-worn  and  weather-beaten),  there  lived 
many  years  since,  while  the  country  was  yet  a  province  of  Great  Britain, 
a  simple,  good-natured  fellow,  of  the  name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He 
was  a  descendant  of  the  Van  Winkles4  who  figured  so  gallantly  in  the 
chivalrous  days  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  accompanied  him  to  the  siege 
of  Fort  Christina.  He  inherited,  however,  but  little  of  the  martial 
character  of  his  ancestors.  I  have  observed  that  he  was  a  simple,  good- 
natured  man  ;  he  was  moreover  a  kind  neighbor,  and  an  obedient,  hen- 
pecked husband.  Indeed,  to  the  latter  circumstance  might  be  owing 
that  meekness  of  spirit  which  gained  him  such  universal  popularity; 
for  those  men  are  most  apt  to  be  obsequious  and  conciliating  abroad, 
who  are  under  the  discipline  of  shrews  at  home.  Their  tempers, 
doubtless,  are  rendered  pliant  and  malleable  in  the  fiery  furnace  of 
domestic  tribulation,  and  a  curtain  lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  in 
the  world  for  teaching  the  virtues  of  patience  and  long-suffering.  A 
termagant  wife  may,  therefore,  in  some  respects,  be  considered  a  toler- 
able blessing ;  and  if  so,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blessed. 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favorite  among  all  the  good  wives 
of  the  village,  who,  as  usual  with  the  amiable  sex,  took  his  part  in  all 
family  squabbles,  and  never  failed,  whenever  they  talked  those  matters 
over  in  their  evening  gossipings,  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Dame  Van 
Winkle.  The  children  of  the  village,  too,  would  shout  with  joy  when- 
ever he  approached.  He  assisted  at  their  sports,  made  their  play- 
things, taught  them  to  fly  kites  and  shoot  marbles,  and  told  them  long 
stories  of  ghosts,  witches,  and  Indians.  Whenever  he  went  dodging 
about  the  village,  he  was  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  them  hanging  on 
his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  back,  and  playing  a  thousand  tricks  on 
him  with  impunity ;  and  not  a  dog  would  bark  at  him  throughout  the 
neighborhood. 

The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  insuperable  aversion 
to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labor.  It  could  not  be  from  the  want  of  assi- 
duity or  perseverance ;  for  he  would  sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod  as 
long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all  day  without  a  murmur, 
even  though  he  should  not  be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.  He 
would  carry  a  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder  for  hours  together,  trudg- 
ing through  woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill  and  down  dale,  to  shoot 
a  few  squirrels  or  wild  pigeons.  He  would  never  refuse  to  assist  a 
neighbor,  even  in  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost  man  at  all 
country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn  or  building  stone  fences.  The 


RIP   VAN  WINKLE.  325 

women  of  the  village,  too,  used  to  employ  him  to  run  their  errands, 
and  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less  obliging  husbands  would 
not  do  for  them;  —  in  a  word,  Rip  was  ready  to  attend  to  anybody's 
business  but  his  own ;  but  as  to  doing  family  duty,  and  keeping  his 
farm  in  order,  he  found  it  impossible. 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on  his  farm ;  it  was 
the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of  ground  in  the  whole  country ;  every- 
thing about  it  went  wrong,  and  would  go  wrong  in  spite  of  him.  His 
fences  were  continually  falling  to  pieces ;  his  cow  would  either  go  as- 
tray, or  get  among  the  cabbages  ;  weeds  were  sure  to  grow  quicker  in 
his  fields  than  anywhere  else ;  the  rain  always  made  a  point  of  setting 
in  just  as  he  had  some  out-door  work  to  do ;  so  that,  though  his  patri- 
monial estate  had  dwindled  away  under  his  management,  acre  by  acre, 
until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere  patch  of  Indian  corn  and 
potatoes,  yet  it  was  the  worst-conditioned  farm  in  the  neighborhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if  they  belonged  to 
nobody.  His  son  Rip,  an  urchin  begotten  in  his  own  likeness,  prom- 
ised to  inherit  the  habits,  with  the  old  clothes  of  his  father.  He  was 
generally  seen  trooping  like  a  colt  at  his  mother's  heels,  equipped  in  a 
pair  of  his  father's  cast-off  galligaskins,  which  he  had  much  ado  to 
hold  up  with  one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does  her  train  in  bad  weather. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  however,  was  one  of  those  happy  mortals,  of 
foolish,  well-oiled  dispositions,  who  take  the  world  easy,  eat  white 
bread  or  brown,  whichever  can  be  got  with  least  thought  or  trouble, 
and  would  rather  starve  on  a  penny  than  work  for  a  pound.  If  left 
to  himself,  he  would  have  whistled  life  away  in  perfect  contentment ; 
but  his  wife  kept  continually  dinning  in  his  ears  about  his  idleness,  his 
carelessness,  and  the  ruin  he  was  bringing  on  his  family. 

Morning,  noon,  and  night,  her  tongue  was  incessantly  going,  and 
everything  he  said  or  did  was  sure  to  produce  a  torrent  of  household 
eloquence.  Rip  had  but  one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  of  the  kind, 
and  that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a  habit.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  shook  his  head,  cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said  nothing.  This, 
however,  always  provoked  a  fresh  volley  from  his  wife,  so  that  he  was 
fain  to  draw  off  his  forces,  and  take  to  the  outside  of  the  house  —  the 
only  side  which,  in  truth,  belongs  to  a  henpecked  husband. 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf,  who  was  as  much 
henpecked  as  his  master;  for  Dame  Van  Winkle  regarded  them  as 
companions  in  idleness,  and  even  looked  upon  Wolf  with  an  evil  eye 
as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often  astray.  True  it  is,  in  all 


326  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

points  of  spirit  befitting  an  honorable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an 
animal  as  ever  scoured  the  woods  —  but  what  courage  can  withstand 
the  ever-during  and  all-besetting  terrors  of  a  woman's  tongue?  The 
moment  Wolf  entered  the  house,  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the 
ground,  or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a  gallows 
air,  casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Dame  Van  Winkle,  and  at  the 
least  flourish  of  a  broomstick  or  ladle,  he  would  fly  to  the  door  with 
yelping  precipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Winkle,  as  years  of  mat- 
rimony rolled  on :  a  tart  temper  never  mellows  with  age,  and  a  sharp 
tongue  is  the  only  edge  tool  that  grows  keener  with  constant  use.  For 
a  long  while  he  used  to  console  himself,  when  driven  from  home,  by 
frequenting  a  kind  of  perpetual  club  of  the  sages,  philosophers,  and 
other  idle  personages  of  the  village,  which  held  its  sessions  on  a  bench 
before  a  small  inn,  designated  by  a  rubicund  portrait  of  his  majesty 
George  the  Third.  Here  they  used  to  sit  in  the  shade,  of  a  long  lazy 
summer's  day,  talking  listlessly  over  village  gossip,  or  telling  endless 
sleepy  stories  about  nothing.  But  it  would  have  been  worth  any  states- 
man's money  to  have  heard  the  profound  discussions  which  sometimes 
took  place,  when  by  chance  an  old  newspaper  fell  into  their  hands, 
from  some  passing  traveller.  How  solemnly  they  would  listen  to  the 
contents,  as  drawled  out  by  Derrick  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster, 
a  dapper,  learned  little  man,  who  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  most 
gigantic  word  in  the  dictionary  ;  and  how  sagely  they  would  deliberate 
upon  public  events  some  months  after  they  had  taken  place. 

The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely  controlled  by  Nicholas 
Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  village,  and  landlord  of  the  inn,  at  the  door 
of  which  he  took  his  seat  from  morning  till  night,  just  moving  suffi- 
ciently to  avoid  the  sun,  and  keep  in  the  shade  of  a  large  tree  ;  so  that 
the  neighbors  could  tell  the  hour  by  his  movements  as  accurately  as 
by  a  sun-dial.  It  is  true,  he  was  rarely  heard  to  speak,  but  smoked 
his  pipe  incessantly.  His  adherents,  however  (for  every  great  man 
has  his  adherents),  perfectly  understood  him,  and  knew  how  to  gather 
his  opinions.  When  anything  that  was  read  or  related  displeased 
him,  he  was  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently,  and  to  send  forth 
short,  frequent,  and  angry  puffs  ;  but  when  pleased,  he  would  inhale 
the  smoke  slowly  and  tranquilly,  and  emit  it  in  light  and  placid  clouds, 
and  sometimes  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  letting  the  frag- 
rant vapor  curl  about  his  nose,  would  gravely  nod  his  head  in  token 
of  perfect  approbation. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  327 

From  even  this  stronghold  the  unlucky  Rip  was  at  length  routed 
by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would  suddenly  break  in  upon  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  assemblage,  and  call  the  members  all  to  naught ;  nor 
was  that  august  personage,  Nicholas  Vedder  himself,  sacred  from  the 
daring  tongue  of  this  terrible  virago,  who  charged  him  outright  with 
encouraging  her  husband  in  habits  of  idleness. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair,  and  his  only  alter- 
native to  escape  from  the  labor  of  the  farm  and  the  clamor  of  his  wife, 
was  to  take  gun  in  hand,  and  stroll  away  into  the  woods.  Here  he 
would  sometimes  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  share  the  con- 
tents of  his  wallet  with  Wolf,  with  whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fellow- 
sufferer  in  persecution.  "  Poor  Wolf,"  he  would  say,  "thy  mistress 
leads  thee  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  but  never  mind,  my  lad,  whilst  I  live  thou 
shalt  never  want  a  friend  to  stand  by  thee ! "  Wolf  would  wag  his 
tail,  look  wistfully  in  his  master's  face,  and  if  dogs  can  feel  pity,  I 
verily  believe  he  reciprocated  the  sentiment  with  all  his  heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind,  on  a  fine  autumnal  day,  Rip  had  un- 
consciously scrambled  to  one  of  the  highest  parts  of  the  Kaatskill 
mountains.  He  was  after  his  favorite  sport  of  squirrel-shooting,  and 
the  still  solitudes  had  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  reports  of  his 
gun.  Panting  and  fatigued,  he  threw  himself,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
on  a  green  knoll  covered  with  mountain  herbage,  that  crowned  the 
brow  of  a  precipice.  From  an  opening  between  the  trees,  he  could 
overlook  all  the  lower  country  for  many  a  mile  of  rich  woodland.  He 
saw  at  a  distance  the  lordly  Hudson,  far,  far  below  him,  moving  on  its 
silent  but  majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of  a  purple  cloud,  or  the 
sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and  there  sleeping  on  its  glassy  bosom,  and 
at  last  losing  itself  in  the  blue  highlands. 

On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a  deep  mountain  glen, 
wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom  filled  with  fragments  from  the 
impending  cliffs,  and  scarcely  lighted  by  the  reflected  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.  For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing  on  this  scene ;  evening 
was  gradually  advancing;  the  mountains  began  to  throw  their  long 
blue  shadows  over  the  valleys ;  he  saw  that  it  would  be  dark  long 
before  he  could  reach  the  village ;  and  he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh  when 
he  thought  of  encountering  the  terrors  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend  he  heard  a  voice  from  a  distance  hal- 
looing, "  Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip  Van  Winkle!"  He  looked  around, 
but  could  see  nothing  but  a  crow  winging  its  solitary  flight  across  the 
mountain.  He  thought  his  fancy  must  have  deceived  him,  and  turned 


328  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

again  to  descend,  when  he  heard  the  same  cry  ring  through  the  still 
evening  air,  "Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip  Van  Winkle!1'  —  at  the  same 
time  Wolf  bristled  up  his  back,  and  giving  a  low  growl,  skulked  to  his 
master's  side,  looking  fearfully  down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a 
vague  apprehension  stealing  over  him :  he  looked  anxiously  in  the 
same  direction,  and  perceived  a  strange  figure  slowly  toiling  up  the 
rocks,  and  bending  under  the  weight  of  something  he  carried  on  his 
back.  He  was  surprised  to  see  any  human  being  in  this  lonely  and 
unfrequented  place,  but  supposing  it  to  be  some  one  of  the  neighbor- 
hood in  need  of  his  assistance,  he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach,  he  was  still  more  surprised  at  the  singularity 
of  the  stranger's  appearance.  He  was  a  short  square-built  old  fellow, 
with  thick  bushy  hair,  and  a  grizzled  beard.  His  dress  was  of  the 
antique  Dutch  fashion  —  a  cloth  jerkin  strapped  round  the  waist  — 
several  pair  of  breeches,  the  outer  one  of  ample  volume,  decorated 
with  rows  of  buttons  down  the  sides,  and  bunches  at  the  knees.  He 
bore  on  his  shoulders  a  stout  keg,  that  seemed  full  of  liquor,  and 
made  signs  for  Rip  to  approach  and  assist  him  with  the  load.  Though 
rather  shy  and  distrustful  of  this  new  acquaintance,  Rip  complied  with 
his  usual  alacrity,  and  mutually  relieving  each  other,  they  clambered 
up  a  narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent.  As 
they  ascended,  Rip  every  now  and  then  heard  long  rolling  peals,  like 
distant  thunder,  that  seemed  to  issue  out  of  a  deep  ravine  or  rather 
cleft  between  lofty  rocks,  toward  which  their  rugged  path  conducted. 
He  paused  for  an  instant,  but  supposing  it  to  be  the  muttering  of  one 
of  those  transient  thunder-showers  which  often  take  place  in  mountain 
heights,  he  proceeded.  Passing  through  the  ravine,  they  came  to  a 
hollow,  like  a  small  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  perpendicular  preci- 
pices, over  the  brinks  of  which  impending  trees  shot  their  branches, 
so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  the  azure  sky,  and  the  bright  even- 
ing cloud.  During  the  whole  time,  Rip  and  his  companion  had  la- 
bored on  in  silence ;  for  though  the  former  marvelled  greatly  what 
could  be  the  object  of  carrying  a  keg  of  liquor  up  this  wild  mountain, 
yet  there  was  something  strange  and  incomprehensible  about  the 
unknown,  that  inspired  awe,  and  checked  familiarity. 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  wonder  presented 
themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in  the  centre  was  a  company  of  odd-look- 
ing personages  playing  at  nine-pins.  Tiiey  were  dressed  in  a  quaint 
outlandish  fashion :  some  wore  short  doublets,  others  jerkins,  with 
long  knives  in  their  belts,  and  most  of  them  had  enormous  breeches, 


RIP    VAN   WINKLE.  329 

of  similar  style  with  that  of  the  guide's.  Their  visages,  too,  were 
peculiar ;  one  had  a  large  head,  broad  face,  and  small  piggish  eyes ; 
the  face  of  another  seemed  to  consist  entirely  of  nose,  and  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a  little  red  cock's  tail. 
They  all  had  beards,  of  various  shapes  and  colors.  There  was  one  who 
seemed  to  be  the  commander.  He  was  a  stout  old  gentleman,  with 
a  weather-beaten  countenance ;  he  wore  a  laced  doublet,  broad  belt 
and  hanger,  high-crowned  hat  and  feather,  red  stockings,  and  high- 
heeled  shoes,  with  roses  in  them.  The  whole  group  reminded  Rip  of 
the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish  painting,  in  the  parlor  of  Dominie  Van 
Schaick,  the  village  parson,  and  which  had  been  brought  over  from 
Holland  at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip,  was,  that  though  these 
folks  were  evidently  amusing  themselves,  yet  they  maintained  the 
gravest  faces,  the  most  mysterious  silence,  and  were,  withal,  the  most 
melancholy  party  of  pleasure  he  had  ever  witnessed.  Nothing  inter- 
rupted the  stillness  of  the  scene  but  the  noise  of  the  balls,  which, 
whenever  they  were  rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like  rumbling 
peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  they  suddenly  de- 
sisted from  their  play,  and  stared  at  him  with  such  a  fixed  statue-like 
gaze,  and  such  strange,  uncouth,  lack-lustre  countenances,  that  his 
heart  turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote  together.  His  compan- 
ion now  emptied  the  contents  of  the  keg  into  large  flagons,  and  made 
signs  to  him  to  wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed  with  fear  and 
trembling ;  they  quaffed  the  liquor  in  profound  silence,  and  then  re- 
turned to  their  game. 

By  degrees,  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  subsided.  He  even  ven- 
tured, when  no  eye  was  fixed  upon  him,  to  taste  the  beverage,  which 
he  found  had  much  of  the  flavor  of  excellent  Hollands.  He  was  natu- 
rally a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon  tempted  to  repeat  the  draught.  One 
taste  provoked  another,  and  he  reiterated  his  visits  to  the  flagon  so 
often  that  at  length  his  senses  were  overpowered,  his  eyes  swam  in  his 
head,  his  head  gradually  declined,  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  green  knoll  from  whence  he 
had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the  glen.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  —  it  was  a 
bright  sunny  morning.  The  birds  were  hopping  and  twittering  among 
the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was  wheeling  aloft,  and  breasting  the  pure 
mountain  breeze.  "  Surely,"  thought  Rip,  "  I  have  not  slept  here  all 
night."  He  recalled  the  occurrences  before  he  fell  asleep.  The  strange 


330  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

man  with  the  keg  of  liquor  —  the  mountain  ravine  —  the  wild  retreat 
among  the  rocks  —  the  wo-begone  party  at  nine-pins  —  the  flagon  — 
"  Oh !  that  wicked  flagon  ! "  thought  Rip  —  "  what  excuse  shall  I  make 
to  Dame  Van  Winkle?" 

He  looked  around  for  his  gun ;  but  in  place  of  the  clean  well-oiled 
fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  firelock  lying  by  him,  the  barrel  en- 
crusted with  rust,  the  lock  falling  off,  and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He 
now  suspected  that  the  grave  roisters  of  the  mountain  had  put  a  trick 
upon  him,  and  having  dosed  him  with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his 
gun.  Wolf,  too,  had  disappeared,  but  he  might  have  strayed  away 
after  a  squirrel  or  partridge.  He  whistled  after  him,  and  shouted  his 
name,  but  all  in  vain ;  the  echoes  repeated  his  whistle  and  shout,  but 
no  dog  was  to  be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last  evening's  gambol, 
and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the  party,  to  demand  his  dog  and  gun.  As 
he  rose  to  walk,  he  found  himself  stiff  in  the  joints,  and  wanting  in  his 
usual  activity.  "  These  mountain  beds  do  not  agree  with  me,"  thought 
Rip,  "  and  if  this  frolic  should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of  the  rheumatism, 
I  shall  have  a  blessed  time  with  Dame  Van  Winkle."  With  some  dif- 
ficulty, he  got  down  into  the  glen ;  he  found  the  gully  up  which  he  and 
his  companion  had  ascended  the  preceding  evening ;  but  to  his  aston- 
ishment a  mountain  stream  was  now  foaming  down  it,  leaping  from 
rock  to  rock,  and  filling  the  glen  with  babbling  murmurs.  He,  how- 
ever, made  shift  to  scramble  up  its  sides,  working  his  toilsome  way 
through  thickets  of  birch,  sassafras,  and  witch-hazel,  and  sometimes 
tripped  up  or  entangled  by  the  wild  grape  vines  that  twisted  their  coils 
and  tendrils  from  tree  to  tree,  and  spread  a  kind  of  network  in  his 
path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had  opened  through  the 
cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre ;  but  no  traces  of  such  opening  remained. 
The  rocks  presented  a  high  impenetrable  wall,  over  which  the  torrent 
came  tumbling  in  a  sheet  of  feathery  foam,  and  fell  into  a  broad  deep 
basin,  black  from  the  shadows  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Here,  then, 
poor  Rip  was  brought  to  a  stand.  He  again  called  and  whistled  after 
his  dog ;  he  was  only  answered  by  the  cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle  crows, 
sporting  high  in  air  about  a  dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  precipice  ; 
and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed  to  look  down  and  scoff  at 
the  poor  man's  perplexities.  What  was  to  be  done?  The  morning 
was  passing  away,  and  Rip  felt  famished  for  want  of  his  breakfast. 
He  grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and  gun ;  he  dreaded  to  meet  his  wife ; 


RIP   VAN  WINKLE.  331 

but  it  would  not  do  to  starve  among  the  mountains.  He  shook  his 
head,  shouldered  the  rusty  firelock,  and  with  a  heart  full  of  trouble  and 
anxiety,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village,  he  met  a  number  of  people,  but  none 
whom  he  knew,  which  somewhat  surprised  him,  for  he  had  thought 
himself  acquainted  with  every  one  in  the  country  round.  Their  dress, 
too,  was  of  a  different  fashion  from  that  to  which  he  was  accustomed. 
They  all  stared  at  him  with  equal  marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever 
they  cast  eyes  upon  him,  invariably  stroked  their  chins.  The  con- 
stant recurrence  of  this  gesture  induced  Rip,  involuntarily,  to  do  the 
same,  when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  found  his  beard  had  grown  a  foot 
long! 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A  troop  of  strange 
children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting  after  him,  and  pointing  at  his  gray 
beard.  The  dogs,  too,  not  one  of  which  he  recognized  for  an  old 
acquaintance,  barked  at  him  as  he  passed.  The  very  village  was 
altered  ;  it  was  larger  and  more  populous.  There  were  rows  of  houses 
which  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  those  which  had  been  his  famil- 
iar haunts  had  disappeared.  Strange  names  were  over  the  doors  — 
strange  faces  at  the  windows  —  everything  was  strange.  His  mind 
now  misgave  him ;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he  and  the  world 
around  him  were  not  bewitched.  Surely  this  was  his  native  village, 
which  he  had  left  but  a  day  before.  There  stood  the  Kaatskill  moun- 
tains—  there  ran  the  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance  —  there  was  every 
hill  and  dale  precisely  as  it  had  always  been  —  Rip  was  sorely  per- 
plexed. —  "  That  flagon  last  night,"  thought  he,  "  has  addled  my  poor 
head  sadly ! " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the  way  to  his  own  house, 
which  he  approached  with  silent  awe,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear 
the  shrill  voice  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  He  found  the  house  gone  to 
decay  —  the  roof  fallen  in,  the  windows  shattered,  and  the  doors  off 
the  hinges.  A  half-starved  dog,  that  looked  like  Wolf,  was  skulking 
about  it.  Rip  called  him  by  name,  but  the  cur  snarled,  showed  his 
teeth,  and  passed  on.  This  was  an  unkind  cut  indeed.  —  "My  very 
dog,"  sighed  poor  Rip,  "  has  forgotten  me!" 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth.  Dame  Van  Winkle 
had  always  kept  in  neat  order.  It  was  empty,  forlorn,  and  apparently 
abandoned.  This  desolateness  overcame  all  his  connubial  fears  —  he 
called  loudly  for  his  wife  and  children  —  the  lonely  chambers  rang  for 
a  moment  with  his  voice,  and  then  all  again  was  silence. 


33  2  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old  resort,  the  village 
inn  —  but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large  rickety  wooden  building  stood  in 
its  place,  with  great  gaping  windows,  some  of  them  broken,  and 
mended  with  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over  the  door  was  painted, 
"  The  Union  Hotel,  by  Jonathan  Doolittle."  Instead  of  the  great  tree 
that  used  to  shelter  the  quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now  was 
reared  a  tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top  that  looked  like  a 
red  nightcap,  and  from  it  was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which  was  a  singu- 
lar assemblage  of  stars.and  stripes  — all  this  was  strange  and  incom- 
prehensible. He  recognized  on  the  sign,  however,  the  ruby  face  of 
King  George,  under  which  he  had  smoked  so  many  a  peaceful  pipe, 
but  even  this  was  singularly  metamorphosed.  The  red  coat  was 
changed  for  one  of  blue  and  buff,  a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand  instead 
of  a  sceptre,  the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and  under- 
neath was  painted  in  large  characters,  GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the  door,  but  none  that 
Rip  recollected.  The  very  character  of  the  people  seemed  changed. 
There  was  a  busy,  bustling,  disputatious  tone  about  it,  instead  of  the 
accustomed  phlegm  and  drowsy  tranquillity.  He  looked  in  vain  for  the 
sage  Nicholas  Vedder,  with  his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and  fair  long 
pipe,  uttering  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  instead  of  idle  speeches ;  or 
Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling  forth  the  contents  of  an  ancient 
newspaper.  In  place  of  these,  a  lean  bilious-looking  fellow,  with  his 
pockets  full  of  handbills,  was  haranguing  vehemently  about  rights  of 
citizens  —  election  —  members  of  Congress  —  liberty  —  Bunker's  hill 
—  heroes  of  seventy-six  —  and  other  words  that  were  a  perfect  Baby- 
lonish jargon  to  the  bewildered  Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long  grizzled  beard,  his  rusty 
fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  the  army  of  women  and  children 
that  had  gathered  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  tav- 
ern politicians.  They  crowded  round  him,  eying  him  from  head  to 
foot,  with  great  curiosity.  The  orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and  drawing 
him  partly  aside,  inquired,  "  on  which  side  he  voted  ?  "  Rip  stared  in 
vacant  stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy  little  fellow  pulled  him  by 
the  arm,  and  rising  on  tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear,  "whether  he  was 
Federal  or  Democrat."  Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the 
question ;  when  a  knowing,  self-important  old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp 
cocked  hat,  made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to  the  right 
and  left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and  planting  himself  before  Van 
Winkle,  with  one  arm  a-kimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen 


RIP    VAN   WINKLE.  333 

eyes  and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very  soul,  de- 
manded in  an  austere  tone,  "  what  brought  him  to  the  election  with  a 
gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to 
breed  a  riot  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  Alas !  gentlemen,"  cried  Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "  I  am  a  poor, 
quiet  man,  a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal  subject  of  the  King,  God 
bless  him  !  " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  bystanders  —  "A  tory  !  a  tory  ! 
a  spy  !  a  refugee  !  hustle  him  !  away  with  him  ! " 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important  man  in  the 
cocked  hat  restored  order  ;  and  having  assumed  a  tenfold  austerity  of 
brow,  demanded  again  of  the  unknown  culprit,  what  he  came  there 
for,  and  whom  he  was  seeking.  The  poor  man  humbly  assured  him 
that  he  meant  no  harm,  but  merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of 
his  neighbors,  who  used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"  Well  —  who  are  they  ?  —  name  them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired,  "  Where's  Nicho- 
las Vedder  ? " 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old  man  replied,  in 
a  thin,  piping  voice,  "  Nicholas  Vedder  ?  why,  he  is  dead  and  gone 
these  eighteen  years  !  There  was  a  wooden  tombstone  in  the  church- 
yard that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and  gone  too." 

"  Where's  Brom  Dutcher  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of  the  war;  some 
say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point5 —  others  say  he  was 
drowned  in  a  squall,  at  the  foot  of  Antony's  Nose.6  I  don't  know  — 
he  never  came  back  again." 

"  Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster  ?" 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars,  too ;  was  a  great  militia  general,  and  is 
now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away,  at  hearing  of  these  sad  changes  in  his  home 
and  friends,  and  finding  himself  thus  alone  in  the  world.  Every  an- 
swer puzzled  him,  too,  by  treating  of  such  enormous  lapses  of  time, 
and  of  matters  which  he  could  not  understand:  war — Congress  — 
Stony  Point !  —  he  had  no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but 
cried  out  in  despair,  "  Does  nobody  here  know  Rip  Van  Winkle  ?" 

"Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle!"  exclaimed  two  or  three.  "Oh,  to  be 
sure !  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder,  leaning  against  the  tree." 

Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of  himself  as  he  went 
up  the  mountain;  apparently  as  lazy  and  certainly  as  ragged.  The 


334  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

poor  fellow  was  now  completely  confounded.  He  doubted  his  own 
identity,  and  whether  he  was  himself  or  another  man.  In  the  midst 
of  his  bewilderment,  the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was, 
and  what  was  his  name  ? 

"  God  knows,"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  wit's  end  ;  "  I'm  not  myself — 
I'm  somebody  else  —  that's  me  yonder  —  no  —  that's  somebody  else, 
got  into  my  shoes — I  was  myself  last  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on  the 
mountain,  and  they've  changed  my  gun,  and  every  thing's  changed, 
and  I'm  changed,  and  I  can't  tell  what's  my  name,  or  who  I  am!" 

The  bystanders  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod,  wink  sig- 
nificantly, and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  foreheads.  There  was  a 
whisper,  also,  about  securing  the  gun,  and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from 
doing  mischief;  at  the  very  suggestion  of  which,  the  self-important 
man  with  the  cocked  hat  retired  with  some  precipitation.  At  this  crit- 
ical moment  a  fresh  comely  woman  passed  through  the  throng  to  get  a 
peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby  child  in  her  arms, 
which,  frightened  at  his  looks,  began  to  cry.  "  Hush,  Rip,"  cried  she, 
"  hush,  you  little  fool ;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you."  The  name  of 
the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  all  awakened  a 
train  of  recollections  in  his  mind. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  good  woman  ?"  asked  he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"And  your  father's  name  ?  " 

"  Ah,  poor  man,  his  name  was  Rip  Van  Winkle ;  it's  twenty  years 
since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun,  and  never  has  been  heard 
of  since —  his  dog  came  home  without  him  ;  but  whether  he  shot  him- 
self, or  was  carried  away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can  tell.  I  was  then 
but  a  little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask ;  but  he  put  it  with  a  falter- 
ing voice  :  — 

"  Where's  your  mother  ?" 

Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since:  she  broke  a  blood- 
vessel in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New  England  pedler. 

There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  intelligence.  The 
honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He  caught  his  daughter 
and  her  child  in  his  arms.  "  I  am  your  father  !  "  cried  he  —  "  Young 
Rip  Van  Winkle  once  —  old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now !  —  Does  nobody 
know  poor  Rip  Van  Winkle  ! " 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering  out  from  among 
the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  peering  under  it  in  his  face 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  335 

for  a  moment,  exclaimed,  "  Sure  enough!  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle — it 
is  himself.  Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbor  —  Why,  where  have 
you  been  these  twenty  long  years  ?  " 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years  had  been  to 
him  but  as  one  night.  The  neighbors  stared  when  they  heard  it ;  some 
were  seen  to  wink  at  each  other,  and  put  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks  ; 
and  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat,  who,  when  the  alarm 
was  over,  had  returned  to  the  field,  screwed  down  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  shook  his  head  —  upon  which  there  was  a  general  shaking 
of  the  head  throughout  the  assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion  of  old  Peter  Van- 
derdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the  road.  He  was  a  de- 
scendant of  the  historian  of  that  name,7  who  wrote  one  of  the  earliest 
accounts  of  the  province.  Peter  was  the  most  ancient  inhabitant  of 
the  village,  and  well  versed  in  all  the  wonderful  events  and  traditions 
of  the  neighborhood.  He  recollected  Rip  at  once,  and  corroborated 
his  story  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner.  He  assured  the  company 
that  it  was  a  fact,  handed  down  from  his  ancestor  the  historian,  that 
the  Kaatskill  mountains  had  always  been  haunted  by  strange  beings. 
That  it  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hendrick  Hudson,  the  first  discov- 
erer of  the  river  and  country,  kept  a  kind  of  vigil,  there  every  twenty 
years,  with  his  crew  of  the  Half-moon,  being  permitted  in  this  way  to 
revisit  the  scenes  of  his  enterprise,  and  keep  a  guardian  eye  upon  the 
river  and  the  great  city  called  by  his  name.  That  his  father  had  once 
seen  them  in  their  old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  nine-pins  in  a  hollow 
of  the  mountain ;  and  that  he  himself  had  heard,  one  summer  after- 
noon, the  sound  of  their  balls,  like  distant  peals  of  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  up,  and  returned 
to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  election.  Rip's  daughter  took 
him  home  to  live  with  her ;  she  had  a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and 
a  stout  cheery  farmer  for  a  husband,  whom  Rip  recollected  for  one  of 
the  urchins  that  used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's  son  and 
heir,  who  was  the  ditto  of  himself,  seen  leaning  against  the  tree,  he 
was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm  ;  but  evinced  a  hereditary  disposi- 
tion to  attend  to  anything  else  but  his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits ;  he  soon  found  many 
of  his  former  cronies,  though  all  rather  the  worse  for  the  wear  and 
tear  of  time ;  and  preferred  making  friends  among  the  rising  genera- 
tion, with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favor. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived  at  that  happy 


336  A  Af ERIC  AN  LITER  A  TURK. 

age  when  a  man  can  do  nothing  with  impunity,  he  took  his  place  once 
more  on  the  bench,  at  the  inn  door,  and  was  reverenced  as  one  of  the 
patriarchs  of  the  village,  and  a  chronicle  of  the  old  times  "  before  the 
war."  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  get  into  the  regular  track  of 
gossip,  or  could  be  made  to  comprehend  the  strange  events  that  had 
taken  place  during  his  torpor.  How  that  there  had  been  a  revolution- 
ary war  —  that  the  country  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  old  England 
—  and  that,  instead  of  being  a  subject  of  his  majesty  George  the 
Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the  United  States.  Rip,  in  fact, 
was  no  politician;  the  changes  of  states  and  empires  made  but  little 
impression  on  him ;  but  there  was  one  species  of  despotism  under 
which  he  had  long  groaned,  and  that  was  —  petticoat  government. 
Happily,  that  was  at  an  end ;  he  had  got  his  neck  out  of  the  yoke  of 
matrimony,  and  could  go  in  and  out  whenever  he  pleased,  without 
dreading  the  tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  Whenever  her  name 
was  mentioned,  however,  he  shook  his  head,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  cast  up  his  eyes ;  which  might  pass  either  for  an  expression  of 
resignation  to  his  fate,  or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  arrived  at  Mr. 
Doolittle's  hotel.  He  was  observed,  at  first,  to  vary  on  some  points 
every  time  he  told  it,  which  was  doubtless  owing  to  his  having  so 
recently  awaked.  It  at  last  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale  I  have 
related,  and  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  neighborhood  but 
knew  it  by  heart.  Some  always  pretended  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it, 
and  insisted  that  Rip  had  been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was  one 
point  on  which  he  always  remained  flighty.  The  old  Dutch  inhabi- 
tants, however,  almost  universally  gave  it  full  credit.  Even  to  this 
day,  they  never  hear  a  thunder-storm  of  a  summer  afternoon  about 
the  Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew  are  at 
their  game  of  nine-pins ;  and  it  is  a  common  wish  of  all  henpecked 
husbands  in  the  neighborhood,  when  life  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands, 
that  they  might  have  a  quieting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van  Winkle's 
flagon.8 


THE   BROKEN  HEART.  337 


THE   BROKEN   HEART. 

I  never  heard 

Of  any  true  affection,  but  t'was  nipt 
With  care,  that,  like  the  caterpillar,  eats 
The  leaves  of  the  spring's  sweetest  book,  the  rose. 

MlDULETON.1 

IT  is  a  common  practice  with  those  who  have  outlived  the  suscepti- 
bility of  early  feeling,  or  have  been  brought  up  in  the  gay  heartless- 
ness  of  dissipated  life,  to  laugh  at  all  love  stories,  and  to  treat  the 
tales  of  romantic  passion  as  mere  fictions  of  novelists  and  poets.  My 
observations  on  human  nature  have  induced  me  to  think  otherwise.2 
They  have  convinced  me  that  however  the  surface  of  the  character 
may  be  chilled  and  frozen  by  the  cares  of  the  world,  or  cultivated  into 
mere  smiles  by  the  arts  of  society,  still  there  are  dormant  fires  lurking 
in  the  depths  of  the  coldest  bosom,  which,  when  once  enkindled,  be- 
come impetuous,  and  are  sometimes  desolating  in  their  effects.  In- 
deed, I  am  a  true  believer  in  the  blind  deity,3  and  go  to  the  full  extent 
of  his  doctrines.  Shall  I  confess  it?  —  I  believe  in  broken  hearts,  and 
the  possibility  of  dying  of  disappointed  love !  I  do  not,  however, 
consider  it  a  malady  often  fatal  to  my  own  sex ;  but  I  firmly  believe 
that  it  withers  down  many  a  lovely  woman  into  an  early  grave. 

Man  is  the  creature  of  interest  and  ambition.  His  nature  leads 
him  forth  into  the  struggle  and  bustle  of  the  world.  Love  is  but  the 
embellishment  of  his  early  life,  or  a  song  piped  in  the  intervals  of  the 
acts.  He  seeks  for  fame,  for  fortune,  for  space  in  the  world's  thought, 
and  dominion  over  his  fellow-men.  But  a  woman's  whole  life  is  a 
history  of  the  affections.  The  heart  is  her  world  ;  it  is  there  her  am- 
bition strives  for  empire  —  it  is  there  her  avarice  seeks  for  hidden 
treasures.  She  sends  forth  her  sympathies  on  adventure;  she  em- 
barks her  whole  soul  in  the  traffic  of  affection ;  and  if  shipwrecked, 
her  case  is  hopeless  —  for  it  is  a  bankruptcy  of  the  heart. 

To  a  man,  the  disappointment  of  love  may  occasion  some  bitter 
pangs:  it  wounds  some  feelings  of  tenderness  —  it  blasts  some  pros- 
pects of  felicity;  but  he  is  an  active  being;  he  may  dissipate  his 
thoughts  in  the  whirl  of  varied  occupation,  or  may  plunge  into  the 


338  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

tide  of  pleasure  ;  or,  if  the  scene  of  disappointment  be  too  full  of  pain- 
ful associations,  he  can  shift  his  abode  at  will,  and  taking,  as  it  were, 
the  wings  of  the  morning,  can  "fly  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth, 
and  be  at  rest."4 

But  woman's  is  comparatively  a  fixed,  a  secluded,  and  a  meditative 
life.  She  is  more  the  companion  of  her  own  thoughts  and  feelings ; 
and  if  they  are  turned  to  ministers  of  sorrow,  where  shall  she  look  for 
consolation?  Her  lot  is  to  be  wooed  and  won  ;  and  if  unhappy  in  her 
love,  her  heart  is  like  some  fortress  that  has  been  captured,  and  sacked, 
and  abandoned,  and  left  desolate.5 

How  many  bright  eyes  grow  dim  —  how  many  soft  cheeks  grow 
pale  —  how  many  lovely  forms  fade  away  into  the  tomb,  and  none  can 
tell  the  cause  that  blighted  their  loveliness !  As  the  dove  will  clasp 
its  wings  to  its  side,  and  cover  and  conceal  the  arrow  that  is  preying 
on  its  vitals  —  so  is  it  the  nature  of  woman,  to  hide  from  the  world 
the  pangs  of  wounded  affection.  The  love  of  a  delicate  female  is 
always  shy  and  silent.  Even  when  fortunate,  she  scarcely  breathes 
it  to  herself;  but  when  otherwise,  she  buries  it  in  the  recesses  of  her 
bosom,  and  there  lets  it  cower  and  brood  among  the  ruins  of  her 
peace.  With  her,  the  desire  of  her  heart  has  failed —  the  great  charm 
of  existence  is  at  an  end.  She  neglects  all  the  cheerful  exercises 
which  gladden  the  spirit,  quicken  the  pulse,  and  send  the  tide  of  life  in 
healthful  currents  through  the  veins.  Her  rest  is  broken  —  the  sweet 
refreshment  of  sleep  is  poisoned  by  melancholy  dreams  —  "dry  sorrow 
drinks  her  blood,"  until  her  enfeebled  frame  sinks  under  the  slightest 
external  injury.  Look  for  her,  after  a  little  while,  and  you  find  friend- 
ship weeping  over  her  untimely  grave,  and  wondering  that  one,  who 
but  lately  glowed  with  all  the  radiance  of  health  and  beauty,  should  so 
speedily  be  brought  down  to  "  darkness  and  the  worm."  You  will  be 
told  of  some  wintry  chill,  some  casual  indisposition,  that  laid  her  low 
—  but  no  one  knows  the  mental  malady  that  previously  sapped  her 
strength,  and  made  her  so  easy  a  prey  to  the  spoiler. 

She  is  like  some  tender  tree,  the  pride  and  beauty  of  the  grove ; 
graceful  in  its  form,  bright  in  its  foliage,  but  with  the  worm  preying  at 
its  heart.  We  find  it  suddenly  withering,  when  it  should  be  most 
fresh  and  luxuriant.  We  see  it  drooping  its  branches  to  the  earth, 
and  shedding  leaf  by  leaf;  until,  wasted  and  perished  away,  it  falls 
even  in  the  stillness  of  the  forest ;  and  as  we  muse  over  the  beautiful 
ruin,  we  strive  in  vain  to  recollect  the  blast  or  thunderbolt  that  could 
have  smitten  it  with  decay. 


THE  BROKEN  HEART.  339 

I  have  seen  many  instances  of  women  running  to  waste  and  self- 
neglect,  and  disappearing  gradually  from  the  earth,  almost  as  if  they 
had  been  exhaled  to  heaven ;  and  have  repeatedly  fancied  that  I  could 
trace  their  deaths  through  the  various  declensions  of  consumption, 
cold,  debility,  languor,  melancholy,  until  I  reached  the  first  symptom  of 
disappointed  love.  But  an  instance  of  the  kind  was  lately  told  to  me  ; 
the  circumstances  are  well  known  in  the  country  where  they  happened, 
and  I  shall  but  give  them  in  the  manner  in  which  they  were  related. 

Every  one  must  recollect  the  tragical  story  of  young  E ,  the 

Irish  patriot ;  6  it  was  too  touching  to  be  soon  forgotten.  During  the 
troubles  in  Ireland  he  was  tried,  condemned,  and  executed,  on  a 
charge  of  treason.  His  fate  made  a  deep  impression  on  public  sym- 
pathy. He  was  so  young — so  intelligent  —  so  generous  —  so  brave 
• — so  every  thing  that  we  are  apt  to  like  in  a  young  man.  His  conduct 
under  trial,  too,  was  so  lofty  and  intrepid.  The  noble  indignation 
with  which  he  repelled  the  charge  of  treason  against  his  country  — 
the  eloquent  vindication  of  his  name — and  his  pathetic  appeal  to 
posterity,  in  the  hopeless  hour  of  condemnation  —  all  these  entered 
deeply  into  every  generous  bosom,  and  even  his  enemies  lamented 
the  stern  policy  that  dictated  his  execution. 

But  there  was  one  heart,  whose  anguish  it  would  be  impossible  to 
describe.  In  happier  days  and  fairer  fortunes  he  had  won  the  affec- 
tions of  a  beautiful  and  interesting  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  late  cele- 
brated Irish  barrister.  She  loved  him  with  the  disinterested  fervor 
of  a  woman's  first  and  early  love.  When  every  worldly  maxim  arrayed 
itself  against  him  ;  when  blasted  in  fortune,  and  disgrace  and  danger 
darkened  around  his  name,  she  loved  him  the  more  ardently  for  his 
very  sufferings.  If,  then,  his  fate  could  awaken  the  sympathy  even 
of  his  foes,  what  must  have  been  the  agony  of  her,  whose  whole  soul 
was  occupied  by  his  image?  Let  those  tell  who  have  had  the  portals 
of  the  tomb  suddenly  closed  between  them  and  the  being  they  most 
loved  on  earth  —  who  have  sat  at  its  threshold,  as  one  shut  out  in  a 
cold  and  lonely  world,  from  whence  all  that  was  most  lovely  and  loving 
had  departed. 

But  then  the  horrors  of  such  a  grave!  —  so  frightful,  so  dishon- 
ored !  There  was  nothing  for  memory  to  dwell  on  that  could  soothe 
the  pang  of  separation  —  none  of  those  tender,  though  melancholy  cir- 
cumstances, that  endear  the  parting  scene  —  nothing  to  melt  sorrow 
into  those  blessed  tears,  sent,  like  the  dews  of  heaven,  to  revive  the 
heart  in  the  parting  hour  of  anguish. 


340  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

To  render  her  widowed  situation  more  desolate,  she  had  incurred 
her  father's  displeasure  by  her  unfortunate  attachment,  and  was  an 
exile  from  the  paternal  roof.  But  could  the  sympathy  and  kind 
offices  of  friends  have  reached  a  spirit  so  shocked  and  driven  in  by 
horror,  she  would  have  experienced  no  want  of  consolation,  for  the 
Irish  are  a  people  of  quick  and  generous  sensibilities.  The  most 
delicate  and  cherishing  attentions  were  paid  her,  by  families  of  wealth 
and  distinction.  She  was  led  into  society,  and  they  tried  by  all  kinds 
of  occupation  and  amusement  to  dissipate  her  grief,  and  wean  her 
from  the  tragical  story  of  her  love.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  There 
are  some  strokes  of  calamity  that  scathe  and  scorch  the  soul  —  that 
penetrate  to  the  vital  seat  of  happiness  —  and  blast  it,  never  again  to 
put  forth  bud  or  blossom.  She  never  objected  to  frequent  the  haunts 
of  pleasure,  but  she  was  as  much  alone  there,  as  in  the  depths  of  soli- 
tude. She  walked  about  in  a  sad  reverie,  apparently  unconscious  of 
the  world  around  her.  She  carried  with  her  an  inward  woe  that 
mocked  at  all  the  blandishments  of  friendship,  and  "heeded  not  the 
song  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so  wisely." 

The  person  who  told  me  her  story  had  seen  her  at  a  masquerade. 
There  can  be  no  exhibition  of  far-gone  wretchedness  more  striking 
and  painful  than  to  meet  it  in  such  a  scene.  To  find  it  wandering 
like  a  spectre,  lonely  and  joyless,  where  all  around  is  gay  —  to  see  it 
dressed  out  in  the  trappings  of  mirth,  and  looking  so  wan  and  woe- 
begone, as  if  it  had  tried  in  vain  to  cheat  the  poor  heart  into  a  mo- 
mentary forgetfulness  of  sorrow.  After  strolling  through  the  splendid 
rooms  and  giddy  crowd  with  an  air  of  utter  abstraction,  she  sat  herself 
down  on  the  steps  of  an  orchestra,  and  looking  about  for  some  time 
with  a  vacant  air,  that  showed  her  insensibility  to  the  garish  scene, 
she  began,  with  the  capriciousness  of  a  sickly  heart,  to  warble  a  little 
plaintive  air.  She  had  an  exquisite  voice;  but  on  this  occasion  it  was 
so  simple,  so  touching  —  it  breathed  forth  such  a  soul  of  wretchedness 
—  that  she  drew  a  crowd,  mute  and  silent,  around  her,  and  melted 
every  one  into  tears. 

The  story  of  one  so  true  and  tender  could  not  but  excite  great 
interest  in  a  country  remarkable  for  enthusiasm.  It  completely  won 
the  heart  of  a  brave  officer,  who  paid  his  addresses  to  her,  and  thought 
that  one  so  true  to  the  dead,  could  not  but  prove  affectionate  to  the 
living.  She  declined  his  attentions,  for  her  thoughts  were  irrecover- 
ably engrossed  by  the  memory  of  her  former  lover.  He,  however, 
in  his  suit.  He  solicited  not  her  tenderness,  but  her  esteem. 


THE  BROKEN  HEART.  341 

He  was  assisted  by  her  conviction  of  his  worth,  and  her  sense  of  her 
own  destitute  and  dependent  situation,  for  she  was  existing  on  the 
kindness  of  friends.  In  a  word,  he  at  length  succeeded  in  gaining 
her  hand,  though  with  the  solemn  assurance,  that  her  heart  was 
unalterably  another's. 

He  took  her  with  him  to  Sicily,  hoping  that  a  change  of  scene 
might  wear  out  the  remembrance  of  early  woes.  She  was  an  amiable 
and  exemplary  wife,  and  made  an  effort  to  be  a  happy  one ;  but  noth- 
ing could  cure  the  silent  and  devouring  melancholy  that  had  entered 
into  her  very  soul.  She  wasted  away  in  a  slow,  but  hopeless  decline, 
and  at  length  sunk  into  the  grave,  the  victim  of  a  broken  heart. 

It  was  on  her  that  Moore,  the  distinguished  Irish  poet,  composed 
the  following  lines  :  — 

"She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleeps, 

And  lovers  around  her  are  sighing; 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weeps, 
For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 

Every  note  which  he  loved  awaking  — 
Ah !   little  they  think,  who  delight  in  her  strains, 

How  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking! 

He  had  lived  for  his  love  —  for  his  country  he  died, 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  him  — 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried, 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him! 

Oh !   make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest, 

When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow; 
They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the  west, 

From  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow!" 


342  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 


NOTES  TO  IRVING. 

"Rip  VAN  WINKLE"  and  "The  Broken  Heart"  are  taken  hom  the 
"  Sketch  Book."  The  former  illustrates  Irving's  lighter  vein,  the  latter  his 
serious  vein.  For  the  circumstances  under  which  the  "Sketch  Book  "  was 
written,  consult  the  sketch  of  Irving. 

Irving  prefaced  the  story  of  "Rip  Van  Winkle"  with  the  following 
explanation  :  "  The  following  tale  was  found  among  the  papers  of  the  late 
Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  an  old  gentleman  of  New  York,  who  was  very 
curious  in  the  Dutch  history  of  the  province,  and  the  manners  of  the  descen- 
dants from  its  primitive  settlers.  His  historical  researches,  however,  did  not 
lie  so  much  among  books  as  among  men;  for  the  former  are  lamentably 
scanty  on  his  favorite  topics ;  whereas  he  found  the  old  burghers,  and  still 
more,  their  wives,  rich  in  that  legendary  lore  so  invaluable  to  true  history. 
Whenever,  therefore,  he  happened  upon  a  genuine  Dutch  family,  snugly  shut 
up  in  its  low-roofed  farmhouse,  under  a  spreading  sycamore,  he  looked  upon 
it  as  a  little  clasped  volume  of  black-letter,  and  studied  it  with  the  zeal  of  a 
bookworm. 

"The  result  of  all  these  researches  was  a  history  of  the  province,  during 
the  reign  of  the  Dutch  governors,  which  he  published  some  years  since. 
There  have  been  various  opinions  as  to  the  literary  character  of  his  work, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  is  not  a  whit  better  than  it  should  be.  Its  chief 
merit  is  its  scrupulous  accuracy,  which,  indeed,  was  a  little  questioned  on  its 
first  appearance,  but  has  since  been  completely  established  ;  and  it  is  now 
admitted  into  all  historical  collections,  as  a  book  of  unquestionable  authority. 

"The  old  gentleman  died  shortly  after  the  publication  of  his  work,  and 
now,  that  he  is  dead  and  gone,  it  cannot  do  much  harm  to  his  memory  to  say 
that  his  time  might  have  been  much  better  employed  in  weightier  labors. 
He,  however,  was  apt  to  ride  his  hobby  in  his  own  way  ;  and  though  it  did 
now  and  then  kick  up  the  dust  a  little  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors,  and 
grieve  the  spirit  of  some  friends  for  whom  he  felt  the  truest  deference  and 
affection,  yet  his  errors  and  follies  are  remembered  '  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger,'  and  it  begins  to  be  suspected  that  he  never  intended  to  injure  or 
offend.1  But  however  his  memory  may  be  appreciated  by  critics,  it  is  still 

1  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York  had  given  offence  to  some  for  its  irreverent 
use  of  honored  names  and  its  caricature  of  Dutch  character.  In  an  address  before  the  New 
York  Historical  Society,  Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  a  friend  of  Irving's,  said :  "  It  is  painful  to  see 


NOTES   TO  IRVING.  343 

held  dear  among  many  folk,  whose  good  opinion  is  well  worth  having  ;  par- 
ticularly by  certain  biscuit-bakers,  who  have  gone  so  far  as  to  imprint  his 
likeness  on  their  New-Year  cakes,  and  have  thus  given  him  a  chance  for 
immortality  almost  equal  to  the  being  stamped  on  a  Waterloo  medal  or  a 
Queen  Anne  farthing."  1 

The  two  pieces  selected  for  special  study  well  illustrate  Irving's  charac- 
teristics as  a  writer.  \Ve  find  in  them  an  easy  grace  and  elegance,  a  flowing 
and  musical  rhythm,  a  light  play  of  fancy  and  humor,  a  delicate  and  tender 
sentiment,  a  smooth  and  unaffected  narrative ;  picturesque  description,  and 
graphic  delineation  of  character.  Of  Irving  it  may  be  said,  as  of  few  other 
writers,  that  the  style  is  the  man.  His  writings  are  suffused  with  his  genial 
personality.  Thackeray  has  described  him  in  the  family  as  "gentle,  gener- 
ous, good-humored,  affectionate,  self-denying ;  in  society,  a  delightful  example 
of  complete  gentlemanliness."  These  traits  are  reflected  in  his  work. 

"  His  facility  in  writing  and  the  charm  of  his  style,"  says  William  Cullen 
Bryant,  "were  owing  to  very  early  practice,  the  reading  of  good  authors, 
and  the  native  elegance  of  his  mind,  and  not,  in  my  opinion,  to  any  special 
study  of  the  graces  of  manner  or  any  anxious  care  in  the  use  of  terms  and 
phrases.  Words  and  combinations  of  words  are  sometimes  found  in  his 
writings  to  which  a  fastidious  taste  might  object ;  but  these  do  not  prevent 
his  style  from  being  one  of  the  most  agreeable  in  the  whole  range  of  our 
literature.  It  is  transparent  as  the  light,  sweetly  modulated,  unaffected,  the 
native  expression  of  a  fertile  fancy,  a  benignant  temper,  and  a  mind  which, 
delighting  in  the  noble  and  the  beautiful,  turned  involuntarily  away  from  their 
opposites.  His  peculiar  humor  was,  in  a  great  measure,  the  offspring  of  this 
constitution  of  his  mind.  This  '  fanciful  playing  with  common  things,'  as  Mi. 
Dana  calls  it,  is  never  coarse —  never  tainted  with  grossness,  and  always  in 
harmony  with  our  better  sympathies.  It  not  only  tinged  his  writings,  but 
overflowed  in  his  delightful  conversation." 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE. 

I.    William  Cartwright  (1611-1643)  "was  distinguished  by  a  graceful 
person  and  attractive  manner,  and  by  extraordinary  industry;   and,  indeed, 

a  mind,  as  admirable  for  its  exquisite  perception  of  the  beautiful  as  it  is  for  its  quick  sense  of 
the  ridiculous,  wasting  the  richness  of  its  fancy  on  an  ungrateful  theme,  and  its  exuberant 
humor  in  a  coarse  caricature."  Irving  read  this  criticism  just  as  he  was  finishing  Rip  Van 
Winkle,  and  accordingly  made  this  pleasant  reference  and  playful  apology. 

1  According  to  a  popular  but  baseless  story,  only  three  farthings  were  coined  in  Queen 
Anne's  reign,  of  which  two  were  in  public  keeping,  and  the  other  was  lost. 


344  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

his  fame  rests  on  his  personal  popularity  and  the  praise  which  he  received 
from  his  fellow-poets,  and  especially  from  Ben  Jonson,  rather  than  on  the 
merit  of  his  verses,  which  are,  in  fact,  very  ordinary  productions." 

2.  "  The  Catskill,  Katskill,  or  Cat  River  Mountains,"  says  Irving,  "  de- 
rived their  name,  in  the  time  of  the  Dutch  domination,  from  the  catamounts 
by  which  they  were  infested  ;    and  which,  with  the  bear,  the  wolf,  and  the 
deer,  are  still  to  be  found  in  some  of  their  most  difficult  recesses.  ...     To 
me  they  have  ever  been  the  fairy  region  of  the  Hudson.     I  speak,  however, 
from  early  impressions,  made  in  the  happy  days  of  boyhood,  when  all  the 
world  had  a  tinge  of  fairyland.     I  shall  never  forget  my  first  view  of  these 
mountains.     It  was  in  the  course  of  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson,  in  the  good  old 
times  before  steamboats  and  railroads  had  driven  all  poetry  and  romance  out 
of  travel.   ...     I  was  a  lively  boy,  somewhat  imaginative,  of  easy  faith,  and 
prone  to  relish  everything  that  partook  of  the  marvellous.     Among  the  pas- 
sengers on  board  of  the  sloop  was  a  veteran  Indian  trader,  on  his  way  to  the 
Lakes  to  traffic  with  the  natives.     He  had  discovered  my  propensity,  and 
amused  himself  throughout  the  voyage  by  telling  me  Indian  legends  and  gro- 
tesque stories  about  every  noted  place  on   the  river.  .   .   .      The  Catskill 
Mountains  especially  called  forth  a  host  of  fanciful  traditions.     We  were  all 
day  slowly  tiding  along  in  sight  of  them,  so  that  he  had  full  time  to  weave  his 
whimsical  narratives." 

3.  Peter  Stuyvesant  (1602-1682)  was  governor  of  the  New  Netherlands 
from  1647  to  1664,  when  the  province  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  English. 
Three  of  the  seven  books  of  Knickerbocker's  "  History  of  New  York"  are 
devoted   to  his   reign.      He   is   characterized   as   "  a  tough,    sturdy,  valiant, 
weather-beaten,  mettlesome,  obstinate,  leathern-sided,  lion-hearted,  generous- 
spirited  old  governor." 

4.  In  the  illustrious  catalogue  of  "  the  sturdy  chivalry  of  the  Hudson," 
who  accompanied  Stuyvesant  in  his  expedition  against  Fort  Christina,  we  find 
the  Van  Winkles.     At  the  moment  of  setting  out,  these  heroes  were  "  all  for- 
tified with  a  mighty  dinner,  and  to  use  the  words  of  a  great  Dutch  poet,  — 

'Brimful  of  wrath  and  cabbage.'" 

5.  A  small  rocky  promontory  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Hudson,  forty-two 
miles  from  New  York.     It  was  stormed  by  Gen.  Anthony  Wayne,  July  16, 
1779.     This  is  regarded  by  some  as  not  only  the  most  brilliant  assault  of  the 
Revolutionary  War,  but  the  most  brilliant  in  all  history. 

6.  Antony's  Nose  is  a  promontory  a  few  miles  above  Stony  Point.     If  we 
may  believe  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  it  was  named  after  Antony  Van  Corlear, 
Stuyvesant's  trumpeter.     "  It  must  be  known  that  the  nose  of  Antony  the 
trumpeter  was  of  a  very  lusty  size,  strutting  boldly  from  his  countenance  like 


NOTES    TO  IRVING.  345 

a  mountain  of  Golconda.  .  .  .  Now  thus  it  happened,  that  bright  and  early 
in  the  morning,  the  good  Antony,  having  washed  his  burly  visage,  was  lean- 
ing over  the  quarter  railing  of  the  galley,  contemplating  it  in  the  glassy  wave 
below.  Just  at  this  moment  the  illustrious  sun,  breaking  in  all  his  splendor 
from  behind  a  high  bluff  of  the  highlands,  did  dart  one  of  his  most  potent 
beams  full  upon  the  refulgent  nose  of  the  sounder  of  brass  —  the  reflection  of 
which  shot  straightway  down,  hissing  hot,  into  the  water,  and  killed  a  mighty 
sturgeon  that  was  sporting  beside  the  vessel !  .  .  .  When  this  astonishing 
miracle  came  to  be  made  known  to  Peter  Stuyvesant  he  ...  marvelled  ex- 
ceedingly ;  and  as  a  monument  thereof,  he  gave  the  name  of  Antony 's  Nose 
to  a  stout  promontory  in  the  neighborhood  —  and  it  has  continued  to  be 
called  Antony's  Nose  ever  since  that  time." 

7.  Adrian  Vanderdonk,    who  wrote   a   "  famous   account  of  the  New 
Netherlands." 

8.  To  this  story  Irving  appended  the  following  note  :   "The  foregoing 
tale,  one  would  suspect,  had  been  suggested  to  Mr.  Knickerbocker  by  a  little 
German  superstition  about  the   Emperor   Frederick   der  Rothbart,  and  the 
Kypphauser  mountain ;    the   subjoined  note,   however,   which    he   had   ap- 
pended to  the  tale,  shows  that  it  is  an  absolute  fact,  narrated  with  his  usual 
fidelity. 

"  'The  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  may  seem  incredible  to  many,  but  never- 
theless I  give  it  my  full  belief,  for  I  know  the  vicinity  of  our  old  Dutch  settle- 
ments to  have  been  very  subject  to  marvellous  events  and  appearances. 
Indeed,  I  have  heard  many  stranger  stories  than  this,  in  the  villages  along 
the  Hudson ;  all  of  which  were  too  well  authenticated  to  admit  of  a  doubt. 
I  have  even  talked  with  Rip  Van  Winkle  myself,  who,  when  last  I  saw  him, 
was  a  very  old  venerable  man,  and  so  perfectly  rational  and  consistent  on 
every  other  point,  that  I  think  no  conscientious  person  could  refuse  to  take 
this  into  the  bargain ;  nay,  I  have  seen  a  certificate  on  the  subject  taken 
before  a  country  justice  and  signed  with  a  cross,  in  the  justice's  own  hand- 
writing. The  story,  therefore,  is  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt.  —  D.  K.'" 

THE  BROKEN  HEART. 

1.  Thomas  Middleton,  a  dramatic  writer,  who  lived  in  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, James  I.,  and  Charles  I.     His  earliest  known  piece  belongs  to  1602, 
and  his  latest  to  1626. 

2.  Irving's  own  life  illustrated  a  "romantic  passion." 

3.  Cupid,   who  was  often  represented  with  a  bandage  over  his  eyes. 
Why  should  he  be  thus  represented,  or  called  "  blind  "? 

4.  Apparently  a  reference  to  Ps.  Iv.  6,  though  not  an  exact  quotation. 

5.  This  and  the  two  preceding  paragraphs  recall  Byron's  lines  :  — 


346  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  Man's  love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart, 

'Tis  woman's  whole  existence ;  man  may  range 
The  court,  camp,  church,  the  vessel,  and  the  mart ; 

Sword,  gown,  gain,  glory,  offer  in  exchange 
Pride,  fame,  ambition,  to  fill  up  his  heart, 

And  few  there  are  whom  these  cannot  estrange." 

6.  Robert  Emmet  (1778-1803)  was  a  schoolfellow  of  the  poet  Moore. 
In  1803  he  attempted  to  excite  a  revolution  in  Ireland,  but  ingloriously  failed. 
He  fled  to  the  mountains;  and  perceiving  that  success  was  impossible,  he  re- 
solved to  escape  to  the  Continent.  But  he  delayed  to  have  a  last  interview 
with  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  deeply  attached,  a  daughter  of  Curran,  the 
celebrated  barrister.  He  was  apprehended,  condemned  to  death,  and  exe- 
cuted Sept.  20,  1803.  His  fate  is  commemorated  by  Moore  in  one  of  the 
"  Irish  Melodies  :  "  — 

"  Oh !  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade, 
Where  cold  and  unhonored  his  relics  are  laid ; 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark,  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head. 

But  the  night-dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it  weeps, 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls." 


ESCAPE   FROM  A   PANTHER.  347 


VIII. 

SELECTION    FROM    COOPER. 
ESCAPE   FROM   A   PANTHER.1 

BY  this  time  they2  had  gained  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  where 
they  left  the  highway,  and  pursued  their  course  under  the  shade  of  the 
stately  trees  that  crowned  the  eminence. 

The  day  was  becoming  warm,  and  the  girls  plunged  more  deeply 
into  the  forest,  as  they  found  its  invigorating  coolness  agreeably  con- 
trasted to  the  excessive  heat  they  had  experienced  in  the  ascent.  The 
conversation,3  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  was  entirely  changed  to  the 
little  incidents  and  scenes  of  their  walk,  and  every  tall  pine,  and  every 
shrub  or  flower,  called  forth  some  simple  expression  of  admiration. 

In  this  manner  they  proceeded  along  the  margin  of  the  precipice, 
catching  occasional  glimpses  of  the  placid  Otsego,4  or  pausing  to  listen 
to  the  rattling  of  wheels  and  the  sounds  of  hammers,  that  rose  from 
the  valley,  to  mingle  the  signs  of  men  with  the  scenes  of  nature,  when 
Elizabeth  suddenly  started,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Listen  !  there  are  the  cries  of  a  child5  on  this  mountain!  is  there 
a  clearing  near  us?  or  can  some  little  one  have  strayed  from  its 
parents  ?  " 

"  Such  things  frequently  happen,"  returned  Louisa.  "  Let  us  follow 
the  sound  :  it  may  be  a  wanderer  starving  on  the  hill." 

Urged  by  this  consideration,  the  females6  pursued  the  low,  mourn- 
ful sounds,  that  proceeded  from  the  forest,  with  quick  and  impatient 
steps.  More  than  once  the  ardent  Elizabeth  was  on  the  point  of  an- 
nouncing that  she  saw  the  sufferer,  when  Louisa  caught  her  by  the 
arm,  and  pointing  behind  them,  cried,7  — 

"  Look  at  the  dog!  " 

Brave  had  been  their  companion,  from  the  time  the  voice  of  his 

young  mistress  lured  him  from  his  kennel,  to  the  present  moment. 

His  advanced  age  had  long  before  deprived  him  of  his  activity ;  and 

when  his  companions  stopped  to  view  the  scenery,  or  to  add  to  their 

'  bouquets,  the  mastiff  would  lay  his  huge  frame  on  the  ground,  and 


34^  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

await  their  movements,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  a  listlessness  in  his 
air,  that  ill  accorded  with  the  character  of  a  protector.  But  when, 
aroused  by  this  cry  from  Louisa,  Miss  Temple  turned,  she  saw  the  dog 
with  his  eyes  keenly  set  on  some  distant  object,  his  head  bent  near  the 
ground,  and  his  hair  actually  rising  on  his  body,  through  fright  or 
anger.  It  was  most  probably  the  latter,  for  he  was  growling  in  a  low 
key,  and  occasionally  showing  his  teeth,  in  a  manner  that  would  have 
terrified  his  mistress,  had  she  not  so  well  known  his  good  qualities. 

"  Brave  !  "  she  said,  "  be  quiet,  Brave!  what  do  you  see,  fellow?" 

At  the  sounds  of  her  voice,  the  rage  of  the  mastiff,  instead  of  being 
at  all  diminished,  was  very  sensibly  increased.  He  stalked  in  front 
of  the  ladies,  and  seated  himself  at  the  feet  of  his  mistress,  growling 
louder  than  before,  and  occasionally  giving  vent  to  his  ire,  by  a  short, 
surly  barking. 

"  What  does  he  see?  "  said  Elizabeth  :  "  there  must  be  some  ani- 
mal in  sight." 

Hearing  no  answer  from  her  companion,  Miss  Temple  turned  her 
head,  and  beheld  Louisa,  standing  with  her  face  whitened  to  the  color 
of  death,  and  her  finger  pointing  upwards,  with  a  sort  of  nickering, 
convulsed  motion.  The  quick  eye  of  Elizabeth  glanced  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  her  friend,  where  she  saw  the  fierce  front  and  glaring  eyes 
of  a  female  panther,  fixed  on  them  in  horrid  malignity,  and  threaten- 
ing to  leap.8 

"Let  us  fly!"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  grasping  the  arm  of  Louisa, 
whose  form  yielded  like  melting  snow. 

There  was  not  a  single  feeling  in  the  temperament  of  Elizabeth 
Temple  that  could  prompt  her  to  desert  a  companion  in  such  an  ex- 
tremity. She  fell  on  her  knees,  by  the  side  of  the  inanimate  Louisa, 
tearing  from  the  person  of  her  friend,  with  instinctive  readiness,  such 
parts  of  her  dress  as  might  obstruct  her  respiration,  and  encouraging 
their  only  safeguard,  the  dog,  at  the  same  time,  by  the  sounds  of  her 
voice. 

"  Courage,  Brave  ! "  she  cried,  her  own  tones  beginning  to  tremble, 
"  courage,  courage,  good  Brave  ! " 

A  quarter-grown  cub,  that  had  hitherto  been  unseen,  now  ap- 
peared, dropping  from  the  branches  of  a  sapling  that  grew  under  the 
shade  of  the  beech  which  held  its  dam.  This  ignorant,  but  vicious 
creature,  approached  the  dog,  imitating  the  actions  and  sounds  of  its 
parent,  but  exhibiting  a  strange  mixture  of  the  playfulness  of  a  kitten 
with  the  ferocity  of  its  race.  Standing  on  its  hind  legs,  it  would  rend 


ESCAPE   FROM  A    PANTHER.  349 

the  bark  of  a  tree  with  its  fore  paws,  and  play  the  antics  of  a  cat ;  and 
then,  by  lashing  itself  with  its  tail,  growling,  and  scratching  the  earth, 
it  would  attempt  the  manifestations  of  anger  that  rendered  its  parent 
so  terrific. 

All  this  time  Brave  stood  firm  and  undaunted,  his  short  tail  erect, 
his  body  drawn  backward  on  its  haunches,  and  his  eyes  following  the 
movements  of  both  dam  and  cub.  At  every  gambol  played  by  the 
latter,  it  approached  nigher  to  the  dog,  the  growling  of  the  three  be- 
coming more  horrid  at  each  moment,  until  the  younger  beast,  over- 
leaping its  intended  bound,  fell  directly  before  the  mastiff.  There  was 
a  moment  of  fearful  cries  and  struggles,  but  they  ended  almost  as  soon 
as  commenced,  by  the  cub  appearing  in  the  air,  hurled  from  the  jaws 
of  Brave,  with  a  violence  that  sent  it  against  a  tree  so  forcibly  as  to 
render  it  completely  senseless.9 

Elizabeth  witnessed  the  short  struggle,  and  her  blood  was  warm- 
ing with  the  triumph  of  the  dog,  when  she  saw  the  form  of  the  old 
panther  in  the  air,  springing  twenty  feet  from  the  branch  of  the  beech 
to  the  back  of  the  mastiff.  No  words  of  ours  can  describe  the  fury 
of  the  conflict  that  followed.  It  was  a  confused  struggle  on  the  dry 
leaves,  accompanied  by  loud  and  terrific  cries.  Miss  Temple  contin- 
ued on  her  knees,  bending  over  the  form  of  Louisa,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  animals,  with  an  interest  so  horrid,  and  yet  so  intense,  that  she 
almost  forgot  her  own  stake  in  the  result.  So  rapid  and  vigorous  were 
the  bounds  of  the  inhabitant  of  the  forest,  that  its  active  frame  seemed 
constantly  in  the  air,  while  the  dog  nobly  faced  his  foe  at  each  succes- 
sive leap.  When  the  panther  lighted  on  the  shoulders  of  the  mastiff, 
which  I0  was  its  constant  aim,  old  Brave,  though  torn  with  her  talons," 
and  stained  with  his  own  blood,  that  already  flowed  from  a  dozen 
wounds,  would  shake  off  his  furious  foe  like  a  feather,  and  rearing  on 
his  hind  legs,  rush  to  the  fray  again,  with  jaws  distended,  and  a  daunt- 
less eye.  But  age,  and  his  pampered  life,  greatly  disqualified  the 
noble  mastiff  for  such  a  struggle.  In  everything  but  courage,  he  was 
only  the  vestige  of  what  he  had  once  been.  A  higher  bound  than 
ever  raised  the  wary  and  furious  beast  far  beyond  the  reach  of  the  dog, 
who  was  making  a  desperate  but  fruitless  dash  at  her,  from  which 
she  alighted  in  a  favorable  position,  on  the  back  of  her  aged  foe.  For 
a  single  moment  only  could  the  panther  remain  there,  the  great 
strength  of  the  dog  returning  with  a  convulsive  effort.  But  Elizabeth 
saw,  as  Brave  fastened  his  teeth  in  the  side  of  his  enemy,  that  the 
collar  of  brass  around  his  neck,  which  had  been  glittering  throughout 


350  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

the  fray,  was  of  the  color  of  blood,  and  directly,  that  his  frame  was 
sinking  to  the  earth,  where  it  soon  lay  prostrate  and  helpless. 

Several  mighty  efforts  of  the  wild-cat 12  to  extricate  herself  from 
the  jaws  of  the  dog  followed,  but  they  were  fruitless,  until  the  mastiff, 
turned  on  his  back,  his  lips  collapsed,  and  his  teeth  loosened,  when 
the  short  convulsions  and   stillness  that  succeeded   announced   the 
death  of  poor  Brave. 

Elizabeth  now  lay  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  the  beast.  There  is 
said  to  be  something  in  the  front  of  the  image  of  the  Maker  that 
daunts  the  hearts  of  the  inferior  beings  of  his  creation ;  and  it  would 
seem  that  some  such  power,  in  the  present  instance,  suspended  the 
threatened  blow.  The  eyes  of  the  monster  and  the  kneeling  maiden 
met  for  an  instant,  when  the  former  stooped  to  examine  her  fallen 
foe ;  next  to  scent  her  luckless  cub.  From  the  latter  examination,  it 
turned,  however,  with  its  eyes  apparently  emitting  flashes  of  fire,  its 
tail  lashing  its  sides  furiously,  and  its  claws  projecting  inches13  from 
her  broad  feet. 

Miss  Temple  did  not  or  could  not  move.  Her  hands  were  clasped 
in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  but  her  eyes  were  still  drawn  to  her  terrible 
enemy ;  her  cheeks  were  blanched  to  the  whiteness  of  marble,  and  her 
lips  were  slightly  separated  with  horror. 

The  moment  seemed  now  to  have  arrived  for  the  fatal  termination, 
and  the  beautiful  figure  of  Elizabeth  was  bowing  meekly  to  the  stroke, 
when  a  rustling  of  leaves  behind  seemed  rather  to  mock  her  organs 
than  to  meet  her  ears. 

"Hist!  hist!  said  a  low  voice,  "stoop  lower,  gal;  your  bonnet 
hides  the  creator's  head." 

It  was  rather  the  yielding  of  nature  than  a  compliance  with  this 
unexpected  order,  that  caused  the  head  of  our  heroine  to  sink  on  her 
bosom  ;  when  she  heard  the  report  of  the  rifle,  the  whizzing  of  the  bul- 
let, and  the  enraged  cries  of  the  beast,  who  was  rolling  over  on  the 
earth,  biting  its  own  flesh,  and  tearing  the  twigs  and  branches  within 
its  reach.  At  the  next  instant  the  form  of  the  Leatherstocking  rushed 
by  her,  and  he  called  aloud,  — 

"  Come  in,  Hector,  come  in,  old  fool ;  'tis  a  hard-lived  animal,  and 
may  jump  agMn." 

Natty  fearlessly  maintained  his  position  in  front  of  the  females, 
notwithstanding  the  violent  bounds  and  threatening  aspect  of  the 
wounded  panther,  which  gave  several  indications  of  returning  strength 
and  ferocity,  until  his  rifle  was  again  loaded,  when  he  stepped  up  to 


ESCAPE  FROM  A   PANTHER.  351 

the  enraged  animal,  and  placing  the  muzzle  close  to  its  head,  every 
spark  of  life  was  extinguished  by  the  discharge. 

The  death  of  her  terrible  enemy  appeared  to  Elizabeth  like  a 
resurrection  from  her  own  grave.  There  was  an  elasticity  in  the 
mind  of  our  heroine  that  rose  to  meet  the  pressure  of  instant  dan- 
ger, and  the  more  direct  it  had  been,  the  more  her  nature  had  strug- 
gled to  overcome  it.  But  still  she  was  a  woman.  Had  she  been  left 
to  herself  in  her  late  extremity,  she  would  probably  have  used  her  fac- 
ulties to  the  utmost,  and  with  discretion,  in  protecting  her  person ; 
but  encumbered  with  her  inanimate  friend,  retreat  was  a  thing  not  to 
be  attempted.  Notwithstanding  the  fearful  aspect  of  her  foe,  the  eye 
of  Elizabeth  had  never  shrunk  from  its  gaze,  and  long  after  the  event 
her  thoughts  would  recur  to  her  passing  sensations,  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  midnight  sleep  would  be  disturbed,  as  her  active  fancy 
conjured,14  in  dreams,  the  most  trifling  movements  of  savage  fury 
that  the  beast  had  exhibited  in  its  moment  of  power. 

We  shall  leave  the  reader  to  imagine  the  restoration  of  Louisa's 
senses,  and  the  expressions  of  gratitude  which  fell  from  the  young 
women.  The  former  was  effected  by  a  little  water,  that  was  brought 
from  one  of  the  thousand  springs  of  those  mountains,  in  the  cap  of 
the  Leatherstocking ;  and  the  latter  were  uttered  with  the  warmth 
that  might  be  expected  from  the  character  of  Elizabeth.  Natty  re- 
ceived her  vehement  protestations  of  gratitude  with  a  simple  expres- 
sion of  good-will,  and  with  indulgence  for  her  present  excitement,  but 
with  a  carelessness  that  showed  how  little  he  thought  of  the  service  he 
had  rendered. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "be  it  so,  gal;  let  it  be  so,  if  you  wish  it 
—  we'll  talk  the  thing  over  another  time.  Come,  come;  let  us  get 
into  the  road,  for  you've  had  terror  enough  to  make  you  wish  yourself 
in  your  father's  house  ag'in." 

This  was  uttered  as  they  were  proceeding,  at  a  pace  that  was 
adapted  to  the  weakness  of  Louisa,  towards  the  highway :  on  reach- 
ing which,  the  ladies  separated  from  their  guide,  declaring  themselves 
equal  to  the  remainder  of  the  walk  without  his  assistance,  and  feeling 
encouraged  by  the  sight  of  the  village,  which  lay  beneath  their  feet 
like  a  picture,  with  its  limpid  lake  in  front,  the  winding  stream  '5  along 
its  margin,  and  its  hundred  chimneys  of  whitened  bricks. 

The  reader  need  not  be  told  the  nature  of  the  emotions  which  two 
youthful,  ingenuous,  and  well-educated  girls  would  experience  at  their 
escape  from  a  death  so  horrid  as  the  one  which  had  impended  over 


352  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

them,  while  they  pursued  their  way  in  silence  along  the  track  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain ;  nor  how  deep  were  their  mental  thanks  to  that 
Power  which  had  given  them  their  existence,  and  which  had  not 
deserted  them  in  their  extremity ;  neither  how  often  they  pressed  each 
other's  arms,  as  the  assurance  of  their  present  safety  came  like  a  heal- 
ing balm  athwart  their  troubled  spirits,  when  their  thoughts  were 
recurring  to  the  recent  moments  of  horror. 

Leatherstocking  remained  on  the  hill,  gazing  after  their  retiring 
figures,  until  they  were  hidden  by  a  bend  in  the  road,  when  he  whistled 
in  his  dogs,  and  shouldering  his  rifle,  he  returned  into  the  forest. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  skeary  thing  to  the  young  creaturs,"  said  Natty, 
while  he  retrod  the  path  towards  the  plain.  "  It  might  frighten  an 
older  woman,  to  see  a  she-painter  l6  so  near  her,  with  a  dead  cub  by 
its  side.  I  wonder  if  I  had  aimed  at  the  varmint's  eye,  if  I  shouldn't 
have  touched  the  life  sooner  than  in  the  forehead ;  but  they  are  hard- 
lived  animals,  and  it  was  a  good  shot,  consid'ring  that  I  could  see 
nothing  but  the  head  and  the  peak  of  its  tail." 


NOTES   TO   COOPER.  353 


NOTES  TO   COOPER. 

1.  The  "Escape  from  a  Panther"  is   an    episode  taken  from  chapter 
xxviii.  of  "The  Pioneers."     For  a  notice  of  this  work,  see  the  sketch  of 
Cooper.     This  selection  well  illustrates  our  author's  power  of  vivid  descrip- 
tion and  narrative.     As  already  pointed  out,  it  is  in  work  of  this  kind  that  he 
appears  at  his  best. 

2.  Miss    Elizabeth  Temple,  the  heroine  of  "The  Pioneers,"  and  her 
friend,  Miss  Louise  Grant,  daughter  of  the  local  rector.     They  are  out  on  a 
pleasure  walk,  a  short  distance  from  Leatherstocking's  hut,  and  not  far  from 
the  village  of  Templeton,  the  name  for  Cooperstown  adopted  in  the  story. 

3.  They  had  been  talking  about  a  young  man,  the  hero  of  the  tale,  in 
whom  both  were  more  interested  than  they  would  have  cared  to  acknowledge, 
and  about  whose  life  there  was  a  mystery  —  explained,  of  course,  near  the 
end  of  the  story. 

4.  Otsego  Lake,  about  seven  and  a  half  miles  long  and  one  and  a  half 
miles  wide.     It  is  surrounded  by  high  hills,  and  the  scenery  is  picturesque. 

5.  The  cry  of  the  panther,  so  old  hunters  have  said,  often  bears  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  the  human  voice,  for  which,  as  in  the  present  case,  it  has 
sometimes  been  mistaken. 

6.  It  was  customary  in  Cooper's  time  to  call  a  woman  by  the  very  indefi- 
nite title  of  "female" — a  usage  that  has  fortunately  given  way  to  better 
taste. 

7.  Do  you  discover  any  incongruity  in  this  sentence  ?     Remodel   and 
improve  it. 

8.  To  this  sentence  Cooper  appended  the  following  note  :   "  Not  long 
since  there  appeared  in  the  papers  an  account  of  a  hunter,  upon  whose  head 
a  panther  had  leaped,  as  he  was  sitting  in  the  woods.     A  severe  struggle  en- 
sued.    The  man  was  seriously  wounded,  but  saved  himself  by  plunging  into 
a  piece  of  water  close  at  hand,  and  diving  beneath  the  surface.     There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  these  animals   have  occasionally  inflicted    fatal  wounds. 
Governor  DeWitt  Clinton  mentioned  a  panther,  killed  early  in  this  century 
near  Oneida  Lake,  by  a  Frenchman.     The  animal  was  shot  in  the  attitude  of 
leaping  on  the  man.     Its  length  was   nine    feet,  eleven  inches.     The  head 
was  taken  to  Schenectady,  where  it  may- possibly  still  be  found." 

9.  This  sentence  may  be  taken  as  illustrating  Cooper's  rapid  and  careless 
style. 

10.    What  is  the  antecedent  of  "  which"?     Note  also  the  careless  use  of 
"  its  "  and  "  her  "  in  the  same  sentence. 


354  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

11.  Is  this  a  correct  use  of  the  word  "  talons  "  ? 

12.  Is  it  correct  to  call  a  panther  a  "  wild  cat  "? 

13.  Could  this  be  strictly  true  ?     Note  the  unsteadiness  in  the  use  of  the 
pronouns  in  this  and  the  preceding  sentence. 

14.  What  is  the  difference  between  conjure  and  conjure  up  ?     Which  is 
the  correct  word  here  ? 

15.  The  Susquehanna,  one  branch  of  which  takes  its  rise  in  Otsego  Lake. 

1 6.  A  term  for  panther  frequently  used  by  uneducated  persons. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BRYANT.  355 


IX. 

SELECTIONS   FROM   BRYANT. 
TH  ANATOPSIS. 


Q 


To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  '  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language  :  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty  ;  2  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,3  with  a  mild 
And  healing  4  sympathy,  that  steals  5  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  6  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern7  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,8  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart  ; 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
Comes  a  still  voice  :  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course  ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  9  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,10  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,"  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements  ; 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  IJ  rock, 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain  I3 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 


356  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shall  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  '4  of  the  infant  world,  —  with  kingsv 
The  powerful  of  the  earth,  —  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun ; IS  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  l6  between ; 
The  venerable  '7  woods  ;  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and  poured  round  all, 
Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  l8  waste,  — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven,'9 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 20 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,*1  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness,22 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,23  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings,  — yet  the  dead  are  there  ! 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,24  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep,  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 
So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence25  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  26  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom  ; 27  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide 28  away,  the  sons  of  men  — 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 
The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  29  — 


SELECTIONS   FROM  BRYANT.  357 

Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,30  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry  slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


TO   A  WATERFOWL. 

WHITHER,  midst  falling  dew,1 

While  glow2  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary 3  way  ? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  4  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats 5  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  6  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  7  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed8  ocean-side? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast 9  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air  — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,10  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 


358  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  "  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  has  sunk  the  lesson  12  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart : 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 


A  FOREST   HYMN. 

THE  groves  were  God's  first  temples.    Ere  man  learned 
To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave,1 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them,  —  ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,2  to  gather  and  roll  back 
The  sound  of  anthems  ; 3  in  the  darkling  4  wood, 
Amid  5  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down, 
And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  6  thanks 
And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 
Might  not  7  resist  the  sacred  influences 
Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place, 
And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 
Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 
Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 
All  their  green  tops,  stole  8  over  him,  and  bowed 
His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power 
And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah,  why 
Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,9  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,10  and  adore 
Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 
That  our  frail  hands  have  raised?     Let  me,  at  least, 
Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood, 
Offer  one  hymn  — thrice  happy,  if  it  find 
Acceptance  in  His  ear. 


SELECTIONS   FROM  BRYANT.  359 

Father,  thy  hand 

Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns,  thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,"  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They,  in  thy  sun, 
Budded  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  thy  breeze, 
And  shot  toward  heaven.     The  century-living  crow 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  I2  for  humble  worshipper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker.     These  dim  vaults, 
These  winding  aisles,  of  human  pomp  or  pride 
Report I3  not.     No  fantastic  H  carvings  show 
The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 
Of  thy  fair  works.     But  thou  art  here  —  thou  fill'st 
The  solitude.     Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 
That  run  along  the  summit  of  these  trees 
In  music ;  thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath 
That  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place 
Comes,  scarcely  felt ;  the  barky  trunks,  the  ground, 
The  fresh  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  '5  with  thee. 
Here  is  continual  worship  ;  —  Nature,  here, 
In  the  tranquillity  that  thou  dost  love, 
Enjoys  thy  presence.     Noiselessly,  around, 
From  perch  to  perch,  the  solitary  bird 
Passes ;  and  yon  clear  spring,  that,  midst  its  herbs, 
Wells  softly  forth  and  wandering  steeps  the  roots 
Of  half  the  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 
Of  all  the  good  it  does.     Thou  hast  not  left 
Thyself  without  a  witness,  in  the  shades, 
Of  thy  perfections.     Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace 
Are  here  to  speak  of  thee.     This  mighty  oak  — 
By  whose  immovable  stem  I  stand  and  seem 
Almost  annihilated  —  not  a  prince, 
In  all  that  proud  old  world  beyond  the  deep, 
E'er  wore  his  crown  as  loftily  as  he 
Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves  with  which 
Thy  hand  has  graced  him.     Nestled  at  his  root 
Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  glare 


360  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Of  the  broad  sun.     That  delicate  forest  flower, 
With  scented  breath  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 
Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould, 
An  emanation  l6  of  the  indwelling  Life, 
A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 
That  are  the  soul  of  this  great  universe. 

My  heart  is  awed  within  me  when  I  think 
Of  the  great  miracle  that  still  goes  on, 
In  silence,  round  me  —  the  perpetual  work 
Of  thy  creation,  finished,  yet  renewed 
Forever.     Written  on  thy  works  I  read 
The  lesson  of  thy  own  eternity. 
Lo  !  all  grow  old  and  die  —  but  see  again, 
How  on  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 
Youth  presses  —  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth 
In  all  its  beautiful  forms.     These  lofty  trees 
Wave  not  less  proudly  that  their  ancestors 
Moulder  beneath  them.     Oh,  there  is  not  lost 
One  of  earth's  charms  :  upon  her  bosom  yet, 
After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries, 
The  freshness  of  her  far  beginning  lies 
And  yet  shall  lie.     Life  mocks  the  idle  hate 
Of  his  arch-enemy  Death  —  yea,  seats  himself 
Upon  the  tyrant's  throne  —  the  sepulchre, 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
Makes  his  own  nourishment.     For  he  '7  came  forth 
From  thine  own  bosom,  and  shall  have  no  end. 

There  have  been  holy  men  l8  who  hid  themselves 
Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave 
Their  lives  to  thought  and  prayer,  till  they  outlived 
The  generation  born  with  them,  nor  seemed 
Less  aged  than  the  hoary  trees  and  rocks 
Around  them  ;  —  and  there  have  been  holy  men 
Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 
But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,  and  in  thy  presence  reassure 
My  feeble  virtue.     Here  its  enemies, 
The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BRYANT.  361 

And  tremble  and  are  still.     O  God !  when  thou 

Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  set  on  fire 

The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill, 

With  all  the  waters  of  the  firmament, 

The  swift  dark  whirlwind  '9  that  uproots  the  woods 

And  drowns  the  villages  ;  when,  at  thy  call, 

Uprises  the  great  deep  and  throws  himself 

Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 

Its  cities  —  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 

Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power, 

His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by? 

Oh,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  thy  face 

Spare  me  and  mine,  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath 

Of  the  mad,  unchained  elements  to  teach 

Who  rules  them.     Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 

In  these  calm  shades,  thy  milder  majesty, 

And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 

Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives. 


TO  THE   FRINGED   GENTIAN.1 

THOU  blossom,  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night ; 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 
O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 
Or  columbines,2  in  purple  dressed, 
Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late,  and  com'st  alone, 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  Year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quite  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue  —  blue  —  as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 


362  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  Tiour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 


THE   DEATH   OF  THE   FLOWERS. 

THE  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 

Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and  sere. 

Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove,  the  autumn  leaves  lie  dead ; 

They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread. 

The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the  shrubs  the  jay, 

And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the  gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers  that  lately  sprang  and 

stood 

In  brighter  light,  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood? 
Alas  !  they  all  are  in  their  graves ;  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of  ours. 
The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie ;  but  the  cold  November  rain 
Calls  not  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely  ones  again. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago, 

And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the  summer  glow ; 

But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in  the  wood, 

And  the  yellow  sun-flower  by  the  brook,  in  autumn  beauty  stood  — 

Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the  plague  on 

men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from  upland,  glade  and 

glen. 

And  now,  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still  such  days  will  come, 

To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home ; 

When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the  trees  are 

still, 

And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill, 
The  South  Wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  late  he  bore, 
A.nd  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream  no  more. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BRYANT.  363 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty  died, 

The  fair  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my  side. 

In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the  forests  cast  the  leaf, 

And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have  a  life  so  brief; 

Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one  like  that  young  friend  of  ours, 

So  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  should  perish  with  the  flowers. 


THE  EVENING  WIND. 

SPIRIT  that  breathest  through  my  lattice,  thou 
That  cool'st  the  twilight  of  the  sultry  day ! 

Gratefully  flows  thy  freshness  round  my  brow ; 
Thou  hast  been  out  upon  the  deep  at  play, 

Riding  all  day  the  wild  blue  waves  till  now, 

Roughening  their  crests,  and  scattering  high  their  spray, 

And  swelling  the  white  sail.     I  welcome  thee 

To  the  scorched  land,  thou  wanderer  of  the  sea! 

Nor  I  alone,  —  a  thousand  bosoms  round 

Inhale  thee  in  the  fulness  of  delight ; 
And  languid  forms  rise  up,  and  pulses  bound 

Livelier,  at  coming  of  the  wind  of  night ; 
And  languishing  to  hear  thy  welcome  sound, 

Lies  the  vast  inland,  stretched  beyond  the  sight. 
Go  forth  into  the  gathering  shade  ;  go  forth,  — 
God's  blessing  breathed  upon  the  fainting  earth. 

Go,  rock  the  little  wood-bird  in  his  nest ; 

Curl  the  still  waters,  bright  with  stars ;  and  rouse 
The  wide  old  wood  from  his  majestic  rest, 

Summoning,  from  the  innumerable  boughs, 
The  strange  deep  harmonies  that  haunt  his  breast. 

Pleasant  shall  be  thy  way  where  meekly  bows 
The  shutting  flower,  and  darkling  waters  pass, 
And  where  the  overshadowing  branches  sweep  the  grass. 

Stoop  o'er  the  place  of  graves,  and  softly  sway 

The  sighing  herbage  by  the  gleaming  stone, 
That  they  who  near  the  churchyard  willows  stray, 


364  AMERICAN  LITERA  TURE. 

And  listen  in  the  deepening  gloom,  alone, 
May  think  of  gentle  souls  that  passed  away, 

Like  thy  pure  breath,  into  the  vast  unknown, 
Sent  forth  from  heaven  among  the  sons  of  men, 
And  gone  into  the  boundless  heaven  again. 

The  faint  old  man  shall  lean  his  silver  head 

To  feel  thee ;  thou  shalt  kiss  the  child  asleep, 

And  dry  the  moistened  curls  that  overspread 

His  temples,  while  his  breathing  grows  more  deep ; 

And  they  who  stand  about  the  sick  man's  bed 
Shall  joy  to  listen  to  thy  distant  sweep, 

And  softly  part  his  curtains  to  allow 

Thy  visit,  grateful  to  his  burning  brow.      • 

Go,  —  but  the  circle  of  eternal  change, 

Which  is  the  life  of  nature,  shall  restore, 

With  sounds  and  scents  from  all  thy  mighty  range, 
Thee  to  thy  birthplace  of  the  deep  once  more. 

Sweet  odors  in  the  sea  air,  sweet  and  strange, 
Shall  tell  the  homesick  mariner  of  the  shore ; 

And,  listening  to  thy  murmur,  he  shall  deem 

He  hears  the  rustling  leaf  and  running  stream. 


NOTES   TO  BRYANT.  365 


NOTES  TO   BRYANT. 

A  FEW  suggestions  are  made  in  reference  to  the  study  of  poetry  in 
general. 

1.  It  is  desirable  to  know  as  much  as  possible  about  the  poet.     Charac- 
ter and  beliefs  are  reflected  in  poetry.     All  great  poets  have  fundamental 
religious  or  philosophic  beliefs  that  give  tone  to  their  productions.      It  is 
impossible  fully  to  understand  what  is  most  characteristic  in  Wordsworth, 
Emerson,  or  Browning  without  a  knowledge  of  their  views  of  nature  and  of 
human  life. 

2.  It  will- prove  helpful  in  many  cases  to  know  the  circumstances  under 
which  any  given  poem  was  written.     The  poet  is  apt  to  turn  his  experience, 
whether  happy  or  unhappy,  into  verse.     Sorrow  especially  forces  from  his 
soul  the  sweet  perfume  of  poetry.     If  we  know  the  occasion  of  its  compo- 
sition, it  will  generally  be  easier  for  us  to  catch  the   full  meaning  of  the 
poem.     When  we  know  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  written,  Bry- 
ant's poem  "  To  a  Waterfowl  "  becomes  much  more  interesting. 

3.  A  genuine  poem  should  be  carefully  studied.     The  words  should  be 
weighed,  the  allusions  cleared  up,  the  scenes  pictured  by  the  imagination. 
The  structure  of  the  verse  should  be  clearly  comprehended.     The  harmony 
and  force  of  each  line  and  sentence  should  be  tested.     The  development  of 
the  poem  and  the  symmetry  of  its  parts  should  be  traced.     As  our  great 
poets  are  consummate  artists,  and  use  language  with  exquisite  care,  this  pains- 
taking process  will  constantly  reveal  new  beauties. 

4.  As  far  as  possible,  we  should  enter  into  sympathy  with  the  poet. 
We  should  surrender  to  his  spell,  and  glow  with  his  emotions.     We  should 
fondly  linger  in  the  enchanted  region  to  which  he  introduces  us ;   for  it  is 
only  thus  that  we  pass  at  length  into  the  fulness  of  his  vision  and  rapture. 
Tke  painstaking  labor  spent  upon  any  poem  is  but  preliminary  to  Ms  full 
enjoyment. 

THANATOPSIS. 

For  facts  concerning  the  composition  and  publication  of  this  poem,  see 
the  sketch  of  Bryant. 

The  title  (from  Greek  thanatos,  death,  and  opsis,  view),  means  a  view  of, 
or  meditation  on,  death. 

The  poem  illustrates  two  of  Bryant's  leading  characteristics:  (i)  his 
sympathy  with  nature,  and  (2)  his  reflective,  ethical  tone. 


366  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

As  first  published  in  the  North  American  Review,  the  poem  began  with 
the  lines,  — 

"  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course," 

and  closed  with  the  words,  — 

"  And  make  their  bed  with  thee." 

The  present  beautiful  beginning  and  close  were  added  in  1822,  when  eight 
of  Bryant's  poems  were  published  in  a  pamphlet  of  forty-eight  pages. 

Bryant  is  distinguished  for  the  quality  of  his  blank  verse.  No  other 
American  poet  has  used  it  so  effectively.  It  has  an  elevation,  rhythm,  and 
sonorous  music  that  furnish  a  fitting  dress  for  his  lofty  thought  and  deep 
emotion. 

The  several  parts  of  this  poem  and  the  movement  of  thought  may  be 
briefly  indicated  as  follows:  I.  Nature  speaks  a  various  language  to  those 
who  love  and  commune  with  her  (lines  1-8).  2.  When  sorrowful  thoughts 
of  death  come  to  the  soul,  listen  to  Nature's  teachings  (8-17).  3.  Her  voice 
tells  us  that  our  forms  will  soon  vanish  from  the  earth  ( 1 7-30).  4.  Yet  our 
resting-place  is  hallowed  by  the  presence  of  the  mighty,  the  wise,  and  the 
good,  and  decorated  by  the  hills,  woods,  rivers,  and  "  Old  ocean's  gray  and 
melancholy  waste"  (30-45).  5.  The  innumerable  dead  that  reign  in  all 
parts  of  the  earth  (45-57).  6.  The  present  and  coming  generations  will 
all  come  to  make  their  bed  with  us  in  the  dust  (57-72).  7.  We  should  so 
live  as  to  approach  the  grave  with  an  unfaltering  trust  (72-81). 

1.  Explain  "communion."     What  "visible  forms"  are  meant? 

2.  Eloquence  of  beauty  =  a  beauty  capable  of  exciting  deep  emotion. 

3.  Explain  "darker  musings."     Note  the  force  of  the  word  "glides." 

4.  In  some  editions  we  find  "gentle"  in  place  of  " healing."     Which 
is  preferable? 

5.  What  is  the  force  of  "  steals  "  here,  and  why  is  it  better  than  takes? 

6.  Give  a  synonym  of  "  bitter,"  and  explain  "  blight"  in  the  same  line. 

7.  Explain  "stern." 

8.  That  is,  of  the  coffin  in  the  "  narrow  house  "  or  grave. 

9.  Embrace  =  clasp.     French  en,  in,  and  bras,  arm. 

10.  Gro^i>t/l  =  developed  form. 

11.  Parse  "trace." 

12.  What  is  the  meaning  of  "  insensible"')     Is  there  any  difference  be- 
tween "  insensible  "  and  "  shtggish  "  in  the  next  line? 

13.  Explain  "  rude  swain.1'' 

14.  What  is  the  etymology  of  " patriarchs,"  and  who  are  meant  here? 


NOTES    TO  BRYANT.  367 

15.  This  statement  is  not  strictly  true  ;   but  when  Bryant  wrote,  the  nebu- 
lar hypothesis  was  not  so  generally  adopted,  and  geological  science  was  yet  in 
its  infancy.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  hills  are  a  comparatively  recent  phenom- 
enon in  the  history  of  our  globe,  and  certainly  much  less  ancient  than  the  sun. 

16.  Explain  " pensive  quietness." 

17.  Give  the  exact  idea  of  "  venerable." 

18.  Note  the  fine  effect  of  these  adjectives.     Give  a  synonym  of  "  Mel- 
ancholy." 

19.  What  is  meant  by  this  phrase? 

20.  What  is  meant  by  "  tribes  "  ? 

21.  An  adaptation  of  Ps.  cxxxix.  9 :   "  If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea." 

22.  Other  readings  are:   "Traverse   Barca's  desert  sands,"  and  "the 
Barcan  desert  pierce."     Which  is  preferable  ?     Barca  is  a  country  in  north- 
ern Africa. 

23.  Another  name  for  the  Columbia  River. 

24.  This  statement  is  true  of  Barca,  which  at  present  has  a  population  of 
a  million,  and  contains  ruins  indicative  of  a  flourishing  era  in  the  past ;  but  its 
truth  is  not  so  obvious  in  the  case  of  the  Oregon. 

25.  Other  readings  are  :   "  If  thou  withdraw  Unheeded,"  and  "  If  thou 
shall  fall  Unnoticed." 

26.  Brood '=  progeny,  offspring.     Paraphrase  this  sentence. 

27.  What  is  a  "phantom  "  ?     What  are  some  of  the  "  phantoms  "  men 
pursue  ? 

28.  Bryant  also  wrote  "glides."     Which  is  better? 

29.  For  this  line,  the  following  is  substituted  in  some  editions:  — 

"  The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant  in  the  smiles 
And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off," 

which  is  certainly  more  poetical. 

30.  Another  reading  is  :    "  The  pale  realms  of  shade."     Which  do  you 
prefer  ? 

To  A  WATERFOWL. 

For  the  circumstances  of  its  composition,  see  the  sketch  of  Bryant. 
The  following  incident  is  related  by  Mr.  Parke  Godwin  :  — 
"Once  when  the  late  Matthew  Arnold,  with  his  family,  was  visiting  the 
ever-hospitable  country  home  of  Mr.  Charles  Butler,  I  happened  to  spend  an 
evening  there.     In  the  course  of  it  Mr.  Arnold  took  up  a  volume  of  Mr. 
Bryant's  poems  from  a  table,  and,  turning  to  me,  said,  'This  is  the  American 
poet,  facile  princeps  ;  '  and  after  a  pause  he  continued  :    '  When  I  first  heard 
of  him,  Hartley  Coleridge  (I  was  but  a  lad  at  the  time)  came  into  my  father's 


368  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

house  one  afternoon  considerably  excited,  and  exclaimed,  "  Matt,  do  you  want 
to  hear  the  best  short  poem  in  the  English  language?  "  "  Faith,  Hartley,  I 
do,"  was  my  reply.  He  then  read  a  poem  "  To  a  Waterfowl,"  in  his  best 
manner.  And  he  was  a  good  reader.  As  soon  as  he  had  done,  he  asked, 
"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  "  I  am  not  sure  but  you  are  right,  Hartley; 
is  that  your  father's  ?  "  was  my  reply.  "  No,"  he  rejoined ;  "  father  has  writ- 
ten nothing  like  that."  Some  days  after  he  might  be  heard  muttering  to 
himself,  — 

'"The  desert  and  illimitable  air, 
Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost." '  1 

Note  the  use  of  the  generic  term  "  waterfowl."  Can  you  give  a  reason 
for  this  ?  What  aquatic  fowl  is  probably  meant  ? 

Make  an  analysis  of  the  poem  so  as  to  give  the  order  of  thought  in  the 
successive  stanzas.  Do  not  fail  mentally  to  picture  the  scenes  described. 

1.  Explain  the  phenomenon  of  "dew."     Does  all  dew/a///     At  what 
time  is  the  "  waterfowl  "  seen  by  the  poet  ? 

2.  Explain  " glmv."     What  figure  of  speech  is  used  with  "  day"  ? 

3.  Does  the  "waterfowl"  in  question  usually  migrate   alone?     What 
form  do  the  flocks  generally  assume  in  their  migrations  ? 

4.  Why  should  the  poet  think  of  a  "fowler  "  as  he  watches  the  water- 
fowl ? 

5.  Why  use  the  word  "floats  "  here? 

6.  Explain  " plashy."1"1 

7.  What  word  would  the  poet  have  used  in  prose? 

8.  Explain  "  chafed.'1''     All  the  waters  mentioned  in  this  stanza  are  vis- 
ited by  the  wild  goose,  with  the  habits  of  which  the  poet  was  evidently 
acquainted. 

9.  Coast =   region  —  an  unusual  meaning. 

10.  These  birds  usually  fly  at  a  great  height.     It  is  only  when  confused 
or  lost  that  they  fly  near  the  earth. 

11.  Abyss  =  immeasurable  space.      From  Greek  a  privative  and  bussos, 
depth,  bottom.     Etymologically,  a  bottomless  depth. 

12.  Here  we  have  another  illustration  of  Bryant's  ethical  habit  of  mind. 
The  following  stanza  contains  the  lesson  learned. 

A  FOREST  HYMN. 

In  this  poem  Bryant's  deep  religious  nature  is  clearly  apparent. 
Make  an  analysis  of  the  poem  by  noting  the  successive  topics. 
*  Bigelow,  William  Cullen  Bryant,  p.  43. 


NOTES    TO  BRYANT.  369 

1.  Explain  "shaft"  and  "  architrave."     See  illustrations  in  a  good 
dictionary. 

2.  Vault  =  arched  roof  or  ceiling.     In  the  great  cathedrals  of  Europe 
the  arched  ceiling  is  often  very  lofty. 

3.  As  poured  forth  from  the  great  cathedral  organs  and  large  choirs. 

4.  Darkling  =  dusky,  gloomy.     "  The  pres.  part,  of  a  supposed  verb 
darkle,  diminutive  from  dark."  —  WEBSTER. 

5.  In  some  editions  we  find   "amidst."     "  Amid  "  is  used  mostly  in 
poetry. 

6.  Give  a  synonym  for  "  solemn." 

7.  Might  not  =  was  not  able.     A.  S.  magan,  to  be  able. 

8.  What  is  the  subject  of  "  stole  "  ?     From  what  three  separate  objects 
came  the  "  sacred  influences  "? 

9.  Explain  "  r  far  years." 

10.  What  is  the  etymological  force  of  sanctuary? 

11.  Bryant  had  in  mind  Gen.  i.  10,  II. 

12.  Explain  "  shrine."     Why  does  Bryant  say  "humble  worshipper"  ? 

13.  7vV/0r/=  tell. 

14.  Fantastic  =  existing  only  in  imagination  ;   hence,  unlike  anything  in 
nature.     Such  ornamentation  can  hardly  be  justified  on  any  correct  principles 
of  architecture.     According  to  Ruskin,  ornamentation  should  in  some  degree 
express  or  adopt  the  beauty  of  natural  objects.     "All  noble  ornament  is  the 
expression  of  man's  delight  in  God's  work." 

15.  Instinct  =  moved,  animated.     Lat.  instinguere,  to  instigate,  incite. 

1 6.  Emanation  =  that  which  issues  from  any  source.     Lat.  e,  out,  and 
manare,  to  flow. 

17.  To  what  does  "tie"  refer? 

1 8.  These  were  the  anchorets  or  hermits  of  the  early  centuries  of  the 
Christian  era.     "  They  lived  in  caves,  avoided  all  intercourse  with  their  fellow- 
men,  abstained  as  much  as  possible  from  food,  spoke  no  word,  but  prayed  in 
silence."  —  Schaff-Herzog  Encyclopedia. 

19.  Express  "  the  swift  dark  whirlwind  "  in  a  single  word. 

To  THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN. 

This  poem  is  justly  admired  for  its  delicate  feeling.  The  poet's  love  of 
nature,  exhibited  in  the  various  fine  descriptions  of  "  Thanatopsis,"  and  "  A 
Forest  Hymn,"  is  here  centred  in  a  little  flower.  His  acquaintance  with 
the  appearance  and  habits  of  the  several  flowers  mentioned  indicates  his 
attentive  observation. 

I.    Gentiana  crinita,  or  Blue  Fringed  Gentian,  found  in  cool,  low  grounds 


37O  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

from  Canada  to  Carolina.     The  stem  is  about  a  foot  high,  and  the  flowers  are 
sky-blue.     It  blooms  in  autumn. 

2.  Aquilegia  Vulgaris,  or  common  Columbine.  It  blooms  in  June,  with 
large  purple  flowers.  Another  common  species,  Aquilegia  Canadensis,  has 
scarlet  flowers. 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

This  poem  was  written  in  memory  of  the  poet's  sister,  the  beloved  com- 
panion of  his  earlier  years.  See  the  sketch  of  Bryant.  "  No  one  is  to  be 
envied,"  says  a  biographer,  "  who  can  read  the  closing  stanzas  to-day  without 
emotion." 

What  characteristics  of  the  poet  are  exemplified  in  this  piece?  This 
poem,  as  well  as  the  following  one,  "The  Evening  Wind,"  will  repay  careful 
study. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  POE.  371 


X. 

SELECTIONS   FROM   POE. 
THE  RAVEN. 

ONCE  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore  — 
While  1  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
"  'Tis  some  visitor,"  1  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Only  this  and  nothing  more."1 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak  December,2 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow;  —  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow  —  sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore  — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain3 
Thrilled  me  —  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating 
"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door;4 

This  it  is  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore; 
But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  "  —  here  I  opened  wide  the  door ;  — 
Darkness  there  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there  wondering,  fearing, 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  dared  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 


372  A  ME  It  1C  AN  LITERATURE. 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word  "  Lenore?" 
This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word  "  Lenore  !  "  — 
Merely  this  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  something  louder  than  before. 
"  Surely,"  said  I,  "surely  that  is  something  at  my  window  lattice ; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is  and  this  mystery  explore  — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery  explore ;  — 

'Tis  the  wind  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter,5 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  a  minute  stopped  or  stayed  he ; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door  — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas6  just  above  my  chamber  door  — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 

"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,   "  art  sure  no 

craven, 

Ghastly  grim  and  ancient  Raven  wandering  from  the  Nightly  shore  — 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore  !  " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore.1'7 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning  —  little  relevancy  bore ; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door  — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door, 

With  such  name  as  "Nevermore." 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely  on  that  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  farther  then  he  uttered  ;  not  a  feather  then  he  fluttered  — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "  Other  friends  have  flown  before  — 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  Hopes  have  flown  before." 
Then  the  bird  said  "  Nevermore." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 

"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  POE.  373 

Caught  from  some  unhappy  master  whom  unmerciful  Disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore  — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  Hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore 

Of  '  Never —  nevermore.' " 

But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird  and  bust  and  door ; 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore  — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore  — 
Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore." 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er 

She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore  ! 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed    from   an   unseen 

censer 

Swung  by  Seraphim  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
"Wretch,"  I  cried,  "thy  God  hath  lent  thee  —  by  these  angels  he 

hath  sent  thee 

Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore  ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore  !  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

•'  Prophet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil !  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
Whether  Tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  Home  by  horror  haunted  —  tell  me  truly,  I  implore  — 
Is  there  —  is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ?  —  tell  me  —  tell  me,  I  implore  ! " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

"  Prophet ! "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil  ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we  both  adore  — 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore." 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore."8 


3/4  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend  ! "  I  shrieked,  upstart- 
ing— 

"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night-'s  Plutonian  shore  ! 

Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken  ! 

Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken !  —  quit  the  bust  above  my  door ! 

Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,9  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my 
door !  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 

On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door; 

And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 

And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the 

floor ; I0 

And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 
Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore. 


THE  MASQUE1  OF  THE  RED  DEATH. 

THE  "  Red  Death  "2  had  long  devastated  the  country.  No  pesti- 
lence had  ever  been  so  fatal  or  so  hideous.  Blood  was  its  Avator3 
and  its  seal  —  the  redness  and  the  horror  of  blood.  There  were  sharp 
pains,  and  sudden  dizziness,  and  then  profuse  bleeding  at  the  pores, 
with  dissolution.  The  scarlet  stains  upon  the  body  and  especially 
upon  the  face  of  the  victim  were  the  pest  ban  4  which  shut  him  out 
from  the  aid  and  from  the  sympathy  of  his  fellow-men.  And  the 
whole  seizure,  progress,  and  termination  of  the  disease  were  the  inci- 
dents of  half  an  hour. 

But  the  Prince  Prospero  was  happy  and  dauntless  and  sagacious. 
When  his  dominions  were  half  depopulated,  he  summoned  to  his  pres- 
ence a  thousand  hale  and  light-hearted  friends  from  among  the  knights 
and  dames  of  his  court,  and  with  these  retired  to  the  deep  seclusion  of 
one  of  his  castellated  abbeys.5  This  was  an  extensive  and  magnifi- 
cent structure,  the  creation  of  the  prince's  own  eccentric  yet  august 
taste.  A  strong  and  lofty  wall  girdled  it  in.  This  wall  had  gates  of 
iron.  The  courtiers,  having  entered,  brought  furnaces  and  massy 
hammers  and  welded  the  bolts.  They  resolved  to  leave  means 
neither  of  ingress  nor  egress  6  to  the  sudden  impulses  of  despair  or  of 
frenzy  from  within.  The  abbey  was  amply  provisioned.  With  such 


SELECTIONS  FROM  POE.  375 

precautions  the  courtiers  might  bid  defiance  to  contagion.7  The  ex- 
ternal world  could  take  care  of  itself.  In  the  meantime  it  was  folly  to 
grieve  or  to  think.  The  prince  had  provided  all  the  appliances  of 
pleasure.  There  were  buffoons,  there  were  improvisator!,8  there  were 
ballet-dancers,  there  were  musicians,  there  was  Beauty,  there  was 
wine.  All  these  and  security  were  within.  Without  was  the  "  Red 
Death.11 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  fifth  or  sixth  month  of  his  seclusion, 
and  while  the  pestilence  raged  most  furiously  abroad,  that  the  Prince 
Prospero  entertained  his  thousand  friends  at  a  masked  ball  of  the 
most  unusual  magnificence. 

It  was  a  voluptuous  scene,  that  masquerade.  But  first  let  me  tell 
of  the  rooms  in  which  it  was  held.  There  were  seven  —  an  imperial 
suite.  In  many  palaces,  however,  such  suites  form  a  long  and  straight 
vista,9  while  the  folding  doors  slide  back  nearly  to  the  walls  on  either 
hand,  so  that  the  view  of  the  whole  extent  is  scarcely  impeded.  Here 
the  case  was  very  different,  as  might  have  been  expected  from  the 
duke's  love  of  the  bizarre.™  The  apartments  were  so  irregularly  dis- 
posed that  the  vision  embraced  but  little  more  than  one  at  a  time. 
There  was  a  sharp  turn  at  every  twenty  or  thirty  yards,  and  at  each 
turn  a  novel  effect.  To  the  right  and  left,  in  the  middle  of  each  wall, 
a  tall  and  narrow  Gothic  window  looked  out  upon  a  closed  corridor 
which  pursued  the  windings  of  the  suite.  These  windows  were  of 
stained  glass,  whose  color  varied  in  accordance  with  the  prevailing  hue 
of  the  decorations  of  the  chamber  into  which  it  opened.  That  at  the 
eastern  extremity  was  hung,  for  example,  in  blue  —  and  vividly  blue 
were  its  windows.  The  second  chamber  was  purple  in  its  ornaments 
and  tapestries,  and  here  the  panes  were  purple.  The  third  was  green 
throughout,  and  so  were  the  casements.  The  fourth  was  furnished^ 
and  lighted  with  orange  —  the  fifth  with  white  —  the  sixth  with  violet. 
The  seventh  apartment  was  closely  shrouded  in  black  velvet  tapestries, 
that  hung 'all  over  the  ceiling  and  down  the  walls,  falling  in  heavy 
folds  upon  a  carpet  of  the  same  material  and  hue.  But  in  this  cham- 
ber only,  the  color  of  the  windows  failed  to  correspond  with  the  dec- 
orations. The  panes  here  were  scarlet  —  a  deep  blood-color.  Now,  in 
no  one  of  the  seven  apartments  was  there  any  lamp  or  candelabrum  " 
amid  the  profusion  of  golden  ornaments  that  lay  scattered  to  and  fro 
or  depended  from  the  roof.  There  was  no  light  of  any  kind  emanat- 
ing from  lamp  or  candle  within  the  suite  of  chambers.  But  in  the 
corridors  that  followed  the  suite,  there  stood,  opposite  to  each  win- 


376  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

dow,  a  heavy  tiipod,  bearing  a  brazier  I2  of  fire,  that  projected  its  rays 
through  the  tinted  glass  and  so  glaringly  illumined  the  room.  And 
thus  were  produced  a  multitude  of  gaudy  and  fantastic  appearances. 
But  in  the  western  or  black  chamber  the  effect  of  the  fire-light  that 
streamed  upon  the  dark  hangings  through  the  blood-tinted  panes  was 
ghastly  in  the  extreme,  and  produced  so  wild  a  look  upon  the  coun- 
tenances of  those  who  entered,  that  there  were  few  of  the  company 
bold  enough  to  set  foot  within  its  precincts  at  all. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  also,  that  there  stood  against  the  western 
wall  a  gigantic  clock  of  ebony.13  Its  pendulum  swung  to  and  fro  with 
a  dull,  heavy,  monotonous  clang ;  and  when  the  minute  hand  made  the 
circuit  of  the  face,  and  the  hour  was  to  be  stricken,  there  came  from 
the  brazen  lungs  of  the  clock  a  sound  which  was  clear  and  loud  and 
deep  and  exceedingly  musical,  but  of  so  peculiar  a  note  and  emphasis 
that,  at  each  lapse  of  an  hour,  the  musicians  of  the  orchestra  were 
constrained  to  pause  momentarily  in  their  performance,  to  hearken  to 
the  sound  ;  and  thus  the  waltzers  perforce  ceased  their  evolutions  ;  and 
there  was  a  brief  disconcert  of  the  whole  gay  company ;  and,  while  the 
chimes  of  the  clock  yet  rang,  it  was  observed  that  the  giddiest  grew 
pale,  and  the  more  aged  and  sedate  passed  their  hands  over  their 
brows  as  if  in  confused  reverie  or  meditation.  But  when  the  echoes 
had  fully  ceased,  a  light  laughter  at  once  pervaded  the  assembly ;  the 
musicians  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled  as  if  at  their  own  nervous- 
ness and  folly,  and  made  whispering  vows,  each  to  the  other,  that  the 
next  chiming  of  the  clock  should  produce  in  them  no  similar  emotion  ; 
and  then,  after  the  lapse  of  sixty  minutes  (which  embrace  three  thou- 
sand and  six  hundred  seconds  of  the  Time  that  flies),  there  came  yet 
another  chiming  of  the  clock,  and  then  were  the  same  disconcert  and 
tremulousness  and  meditation  as  before. 

But,  in  spite  of  these  things,  it  was  a  gay  and  magnificent  revel. 
The  tastes  of  the  duke  were  peculiar.  He  had  a  fine  eye  for  colors 
and  effects.  He  disregarded  the  decora  I4  of  mere-fashion.  His  plans 
were  bold  and  fiery,  and  his  conceptions  glowed  with  barbaric  lustre. 
There  are  some  who  would  have  thought  him  mad.  His  followers  felt 
that  he  was  not.  It  was  necessary  to  hear  and  see  and  touch  him  to 
be  sure  that  he  was  not. 

He  had  directed,  in  great  part,  the  movable  embellishments  of  the 
seven  chambers  upon  occasion  of  this  great  fete ;  and  it  was  his  own 
guiding  taste  which  had  given  character  to  the  masqueraders.  Be  sure 
they  were  grotesque.  There  were  much  glare  and  glitter  and  piquancy 


SELECTIONS  FROM  POE.  377 

and  phantasm  —  much  of  what  has  been  since  seen  in  "  Hernani." '5 
There  were  arabesque  l6  figures  with  unsuited  limbs  and  appointments. 
There  were  delirious  fancies  such  as  the  madman  fashions.  There 
were  much  of  the  beautiful,  much  of  the  wanton,  much  of  the  bizarre, 
something  of  the  terrible,  and  not  a  little  of  that  which  might  have 
excited  disgust.  To  and  fro  in  the  seven  chambers  there  stalked,  in 
fact,  a  multitude  of  dreams.  And  these  —  the  dreams  —  writhed  in 
and  about,  taking  hue  from  the  rooms,  and  causing  the  wild  music  of 
the  orchestra  to  seem  as  the  echo  of  their  steps.  And,  anon,  there 
strikes  the  ebony  clock  which  stands  in  the  hall  of  the  velvet.  And 
then,  for  a  moment,  all  is  still,  and  all  is  silent  save  the  voice  of  the 
clock.  The  dreams  are  stiff-frozen  as  they  stand.  But  the  echoes  of 
the  chime  die  away  —  they  have  endured  but  an  instant  —  and  a  light, 
half-subdued  laughter  floats  after  them  as  they  depart.  And  now  again 
the  music  swells,  and  the  dreams  live,  and  writhe  to  and  fro  more 
merrily  than  ever,  taking  hue  from  the  many  tinted  windows  through 
which  stream  the  rays  from  the  tripods.  But  to  the  chamber  which 
lies  most  westwardly  of  the  seven,  there  are  now  none  of  the  maskers 
who  venture  ;  for  the  night  is  waning  away ;  and  there  flows  a  ruddier 
light  through  the  blood-colored  panes ;  and  the  blackness  of  the  sable 
drapery  appalls ;  and  to  him  whose  foot  falls  upon  the  sable  carpet 
there  comes  from  the  near  clock  of  ebonv  a  muffled  peal  more  sol- 
emnly emphatic  than  any  which  reaches  their  ears  who  indulge  in  the 
more  remote  gayeties  of  the  other  apartments. 

But  these  other  apartments  were  densely  crowded,  in  them  beat 
feverishly  the  heart  of  life.  And  the  revel  went  whirlingly  on,  until 
at  length  there  commenced  the  sounding  of  midnight  upon  the  clock. 
And  then  the  music  ceased,  as  I  have  told ;  and  the  evolutions  of  the 
waltzers  were  quieted  ;  and  there  was  an  uneasy  cessation  of  all  things 
as  before.  But  now  there  were  twelve  strokes  to  be  sounded  by  the 
bell  of  the  clock  ;  and  thus  it  happened,  perhaps,  that  more  of  thought 
crept,  with  more  of  time,  into  the  meditations  of  the  thoughtful  among 
those  who  revelled.  And  thus,  too,  it  happened,  perhaps,  that  before 
the  last  echoes  of  the  last  chime  had  utterly  sunk  into  silence,  there 
were  many  individuals  in  the  crowd  who  had  found  leisure  to  become 
aware  of  the  presence  of  a  masked  figure  which  had  arrested  the  atten- 
tion of  no  single  individual  before.  And  the  rumor  of  this  new  pres- 
ence having  spread  itself  whisperingly  around,  there  arose  at  length 
from  the  whole  company  a  buzz  or  murmur  expressive  of  disapproba- 
tion and  surprise  —  then,  finally,  of  terror,  of  horror,  and  of  disgust. 


378  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

In  an  assembly  of  phantasms  such  as  I  have  painted,  it  may  well 
be  supposed  that  no  ordinary  appearance  could  have  excited  such  sen- 
sation. In  truth,  the  masquerade  license  of  the  night  was  nearly  un- 
limited;  but  the  figure  in  question  had  out-Heroded  Herod,'7  and 
gone  beyond  the  bounds  of  even  the  prince's  indefinite  decorum. 
There  are  chords  in  the  hearts  of  the  most  reckless  which  cannot  be 
touched  without  emotion.  Even  with  the  utterly  lost,  to  whom  life 
and  death  are  equally  jests,  there  are  matters  of  which  no  jests  can  be 
made.  The  whole  company,  indeed,  seemed  now  deeply  to  feel  that 
in  the  costume  and  bearing  of  the  stranger  neither  wit  nor  propriety 
existed.  The  figure  was  tall  and  gaunt,  and  shrouded  from  head  to 
foot  in  the  habiliments  of  the  grave.  The  mask  which  concealed  the 
visage  was  made  so  nearly  to  resemble  the  countenance  of  a  stiffened 
corpse  that  the  closest  scrutiny  must  have  had  difficulty  in  detecting 
the  cheat.  And  yet  all  this  might  have  been  endured,  if  not  approved, 
by  the  mad  revellers  around.  But  the  mummer  l8  had  gone  so  far 
as  to  assume  the  type  of  the  Red  Death.  His  vesture  was  dabbled 
in  blood;  and  his  broad  brow,  with  all  the  features  of  the  face,  was 
besprinkled  with  the  scarlet  horror. 

When  the  eyes  of  Prince  Prospero  fell  upon  this  spectral  image 
(which  with  a  slow  and  solemn  movement,  as  if  more  fully  to  sustain 
its  rSle,  stalked  to  and  fro  among  the  waltzers)  he  was  seen  to  be  con- 
vulsed in  the  first  moment  with  a  strong  shudder  either  of  terror  or 
distaste ;  but,  in  the  next,  his  brow  reddened  with  rage. 

"  Who  dares?  "  he  demanded  hoarsely  of  the  courtiers  who  stood 
near  him — "who  dares  insult  us  with  this  blasphemous  mockery? 
Seize  him  and  unmask  him  —  that  we  may  know  whom  we  have  to 
hang  at  sunrise  from  the  battlements  !  " 

It  was  in  the  eastern  or  blue  chamber  in  which  stood  the  Prince 
Prospero  as  he  uttered  these  words.  They  rang  throughout  the  seven 
rooms  loudly  and  clearly ;  for  the  prince  was  a  bold  and  robust  man, 
and  the  music  had  become  hushed  at  the  waving  of  his  hand. 

It  was  in  the  blue  room  where  stood  the  prince,  with  a  group  of 
pale  courtiers  by  his  side.  At  first,  as  he  spoke,  there  was  a  slight 
rushing  movement  of  this  group  in  the  direction  of  the  intruder,  who, 
at  the  moment,  was  also  near  at  hand,  and  now,  with  deliberate  and 
stately  step,  made  closer  approach  to  the  speaker.  But  from  a  certain 
nameless  awe  with  which  the  mad  assumptions  of  the  mummer  had 
inspired  the  whole  party,  there  were  found  none  who  put  forth  hand 
to  seize  him ;  so  that,  unimpeded,  he  passed  within  a  yard  of  the 


SELECTIONS  FROM  FOE.  379 

prince's  person ;  and,  while  the  vast  assembly,  as  if  with  one  impulse, 
shrank  from  the  centres  of  the  rooms  to  the  walls,  he  made  his  way 
uninterruptedly,  but  with  the  same  solemn  and  measured  step  which 
had  distinguished  him  from  the  first,  through  the  blue  chamber  to 
the  purple — through  the  purple  to  the  green  —  through  the  green  to 
the  orange—  through  this  again  to  the  white  —  and  even  thence  to  the 
violet,  ere  a  decided  movement  had  been  made  to  arrest  him.  It  was 
then,  however,  that  the  Prince  Prospero,  maddening  with  rage  and  the 
shame  of  his  own  momentary  cowardice,  rushed  hurriedly  through  the 
six  chambers,  while  none  followed  him  on  account  of  a  deadly  terror 
that  had  seized  upon  all.  He  bore  aloft  a  drawn  dagger,  and  had  ap- 
proached, in  rapid  impetuosity,  to  within  three  or  four  feet  of  the  re- 
treating figure,  when  the  latter,  having  attained  the  extremity  of  the 
velvet  apartment,  turned  suddenly  and  confronted  his  pursuer.  There 
was  a  sharp  cry  —  and  the  dagger  dropped  gleaming  upon  the  sable 
carpet,  upon  which,  instantly  afterward,  fell  prostrate  in  death  the 
Prince  Prospero.  Then,  summoning  the  wild  courage  of  despair,  a 
throng  of  the  revellers  at  once  threw  themselves  into  the  black  apart- 
ment, and,  seizing  the  mummer,  whose  tall  figure  stood  erect  and 
motionless  within  the  shadow  of  the  ebony  clock,  gasped  in  unuttera- 
ble horror  at  finding  the  grave  cerements  and  corpse-like  mask  which 
they  handled  with  so  violent  a  rudeness,  untenanted  by  any  tangible 
form. 

And  now  was  acknowledged  the  presence  of  the  Red  Death.  He 
had  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  And  one  by  one  dropped  the  rev- 
ellers in  the  blood-bedewed  halls  of  their  revel,  and  died  each  in  the 
despairing  posture  of  his  fall.  And  the  life  of  the  ebony  clock  went 
out  with  that  of  the  last  of  the  gay.  And  the  flames  of  the  tripods 
expired.  And  Darkness  and  the  Red  Death  held  illimitable  dominion 
over  all. 


380  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES  TO   POE. 
THE  RAVEN. 

FOR  facts  connected  with  the  publication  of  "  The  Raven,"  and  also  for 
a  statement  of  Foe's  poetical  principles,  see  the  preceding  sketch. 

In  a  paper  entitled  "The  Philosophy  of  Composition,"  the  poet  has 
given  us  a  rather  incredible  description  of  the  method  he  pursued  in  the  com- 
position of  "  The  Raven."  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  truthfulness  of 
the  description  (his  word  for  it  is  hardly  sufficient),  it  throws  much  light  on 
the  structure  of  the  poem.  The  following  notes  are  chiefly  an  abridgment  of 
Poe's  analysis,  which  the  student  would  do  well  to  read  in  full. 

The  story  in  prose  Poe  gives  as  follows  :  "A  raven,  having  learned  by 
rote  the  single  word  'Nevermore,'  and  having  escaped  from  the  custody  of 
its  owner,  is  driven  at  midnight,  through  the  violence  of  a  storm,  to  seek  ad- 
mission at  a  window  from  which  a  light  still  gleams,  —  the  chamber-window 
of  a  student,  occupied  half  in  poring  over  a  volume,  half  in  dreaming  of  a  be- 
loved mistress  deceased.  The  casement  being  thrown  open  at  the  fluttering 
of  the  bird's  wings,  the  bird  itself  perches  on  the  most  convenient  seat  out  of 
the  immediate  reach  of  the  student,  who,  amused  by  the  incident  and  the 
oddity  of  the  visitor's  demeanor,  demands  of  it,  in  jest  and  without  looking 
for  a  reply,  its  name.  The  raven  addressed  answers  with  its  customary  word, 
1  Nevermore '  —  a  word  which  finds  immediate  echo  in  the  melancholy  heart 
of  the  student,  who,  giving  utterance  aloud  to  certain  thoughts  suggested  by 
the  occasion,  is  again  startled  by  the  fowl's  repetition  of  '  Nevermore.'  The 
student  now  guesses  the  state  of  the  case,  but  is  impelled,  by  the  human  thirst 
for  self-torture,  and  in  part  by  superstition,  to  propound  such  queries  to  the 
bird  as  will  bring  him,  the  lover,  the  most  of  the  luxury  of  sorrow,  through 
the  anticipated  answer  'Nevermore.'  " 

After  having  decided  to  write  a  poem,  the  first  thing  to  be  determined, 
Poe  tells  us,  was  its  length.  In  order  to  secure  unity  of  impression,  it  should 
not  be  too  long  to  be  read  at  a  single  sitting.  Furthermore,  it  ought  not  to 
extend  beyond  the  limits  of  the  soul  to  bear  intense  emotion.  From  these 
considerations,  he  reached  the  conclusion,  so  he  says,  that  his  poem  should 
consist  of  about  one  hundred  lines.  It  contains,  in  fact,  a  hundred  and 
eight. 

As  to  the  impression  or  effect  to  be  conveyed,  Poe  held  that  "  Beauty  is 
the  sole  legitimate  province  of  the  poem."  The  tone  of  its  highest  manifes- 


NOTES   7'0  POE.  381 

tation  is  one  of  sadness.  "  Beauty  of  whatever  kind,  in  its  supreme  develop- 
ment, invariably  excites  the  sensitive  soul  to  tears.  Melancholy  is  thus  the 
most  legitimate  of  all  the  poetical  tones." 

By  his  usual  ratiocination  Poe  reached  the  conclusion  that  "the  death  of 
a  beautiful  woman  is,  unquestionably,  the  most  poetical  topic  in  the  world  ; 
and  equally  is  it  beyond  doubt  that  the  lips  best  suited  for  such  topic  are 
those  of  a  bereaved  lover." 

As  to  the  metre,  "the  feet  employed  throughout  (trochees)  consist  of  a 
long  syllable  followed  by  a  short :  the  first  line  of  the  stanza  consists  of  eight 
of  these  feet  —  the  second  of  seven  and  a  half  (in  effect  two-thirds)  —  the 
third  of  eight  —  the  fourth  of  seven  and  a  half  —  the  fifth  the  same — the 
sixth  three  and  a  half.  Now,  each  of  these  lines,  taken  individually,  has  been 
employed  before,  and  what  originality  the  '  Raven  '  has,  is  in  their  combina- 
tion into  stanza ;  nothing  even  remotely  approaching  this  combination  has 
ever  been  attempted.  The  effect  of  this  originality  of  combination  is  aided 
by  other  unusual,  and  some  altogether  novel  effects,  arising  from  an  extension 
of  the  application  of  the  principles  of  rhyme  and  alliteration." 

1.  In  order  to  obtain  "  artistic  piquancy,"  he  adopted  the  refrain.    But, 
he  says,  "  I  resolved  to  diversify,  and  so  heighten,  the  effect,  by  adhering,  in 
general,  to  the  monotone  of  sound,  while  I  continually  varied  that  of  thought; 
that  is  to  say,  I  determined  to  produce  continuously  novel  effects,  by  the  va- 
riation of  the  application  of  the  refrain  —  the  refrain  itself  remaining,  for 
the  most  part,  unvaried." 

2.  "  I  made  the  night  tempestuous,  first  to  account  for  the  Raven's  seek- 
ing admission,  and  secondly,  for  the  effect  of  contrast  with  the  (physical) 
serenity  within  the  chamber." 

3.  Deeming  a  close  circumscription  of  space  necessary  for  the  effect 
aimed  at,  he  determined  "  to  place  the  lover  in  his  chamber — in  a  chamber 
rendered  sacred  to  him  by  memories  of  her  who  had  frequented  it.    The  room 
is  represented  as  richly  furnished  —  this  in  mere  pursuance  of  the  ideas  I  have 
already  explained  on  the  subject  of  Beauty,  as  the  sole  true  poetical  thesis." 

4.  "The  locale  being  thus  determined,  I  had  now  to  introduce  the  bird 
—  and  the  thought  of  introducing  him  through  the  window  was  inevitable. 
The  idea  of  making  the  lover  suppose,  in  the  first  instance,  that  the  flapping 
of  the  wings  of  the  bird  against  the  shutter  is  a  'tapping'  at  the  door,  origi- 
nated in  a  wish  to  increase,  by  prolonging,  the  reader's  curiosity,  and  in  a 
desire  to  admit  the  incidental  effect  arising  from  the  lover's  throwing  open 
the  door,  finding  all  dark,  and  thence  adopting  the  half-fancy  that  it  was  the 
spirit  of  his  mistress  that  knocked." 

5.  "  About  the  middle  of  the  poem,  also,  I  have  availed  myself  of  the 
force  of  contrast,  with  a  view  of  deepening  the  ultimate  impression.     For  ex- 
ample, an  air  of  the  fantastic — approaching  as  nearly  to  the  ludicrous  as  was 


382  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

admissible  —  is  given  to  the  Raven's  entrance.     He  comes  in  '  with  many  a 
flirt  and  flutter.' 

'  Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he  —  not  a  moment  stopped  or  stayed  he, 
But  -with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door.' 

In  the  two  stanzas  which  follow,  the  design  is  more  obviously  carried  out." 

6.  "I  made  the  bird  alight  on  the  bust  of  Pallas,  also  for  the  effect  of 
contrast  between  the  marble  and  the  plumage  —  it  being  understood  that  the 
bust  was  absolutely  suggested 'by  the  bird  —  the  bust  of  Pallas  being  chosen, 
first,  as  most  in  keeping  with  the  scholarship  of  the  lover,  and,  secondly,  for 
the  sonorousness  of  the  word  Pallas  itself." 

7.  When  Poe  had  resolved  upon  the  refrain,  he  had  to  decide  upon  the 
character  of  the  word  to  be  so  used.     That  it  must  be  sonorous,  and  suscepti- 
ble of  protracted  emphasis,  admitted  no  doubt ;   "  and  "  — thus  continues  the 
veracious  narrative  —  "these  considerations  inevitably  led  me  to  the  long  o 
as  the  most  sonorous  vowel,  in  connection  with  r  as  the  most  producible 
consonant. 

"  The  sound  of  the  refrain  being  thus  determined,  it  became  necessary  to 
select  a  word  embodying  this  sound,  and  at  the  same  time  in  the  fullest  pos- 
sible keeping  with  that  melancholy  which  I  had  predetermined  as  the  tone  of 
the  poem.  In  such  a  search  it  would  have  been  absolutely  impossible  to  over- 
look the  word  '  Nevermore.'  In  fact,  it  was  the  very  first  which  presented 
itself." 

The  next  desideratum  was  a  pretext  for  the  continuous  use  of  the  one 
word  "nevermore."  Its  monotonous  use  by  a  human  being  would  not,  he 
thought,  be  readily  reconciled  with  the  exercise  of  reason.  "  Here,  then, 
immediately  arose  the  idea  of  a  wow-reasoning  creature  capable  of  speech ; 
and,  very  naturally,  a  parrot,  in  the  first  instance,  suggested  itself,  but  was 
superseded  forthwith  by  a  Raven,  as  equally  capable  of  speech,  and  infinitely 
more  in  keeping  with  the  intended  tone." 

8.  "I  had  now  to  combine  the  two  ideas,  of  a  lover  lamenting  his  deceased 
mistress,  and  a  Raven  continuously  repeating  the  word  '  Nevermore.'  .  .   . 
And  here  it  was  that  I  saw  at  once  the  opportunity  afforded  for  the  effect  on 
which  I  had  been  depending  —  that  is  to  say,  the  effect  of  the  variation  of 
application.     I  saw  that  I  could  make   the  first  query   propounded  by  the 
lover  —  the  first  query,  to  which  the  Raven  should  reply  '  Nevermore  '  —  a 
commonplace  one  —  the  second  less  so,  —  the  third  still  less,  and  so  on  —  until 
at  length  the  lover,  startled  from  his  original  nonchalance  by  the  melancholy 
character  of  the  word  itself  —  by  its  frequent  repetition  —  and  by  a  considera- 
tion of  the  ominous  reputation  of  the  fowl  that  uttered  it  —  is  at  length  excited 
to  superstition,  and  wildly  propounds  queries  of  a  far  different  character,  — 
queries  whose  solution  he  has  passionately  at  heart  —  propounds  them  half  in 


NOTES    TO   POE.  383 

superstition  and  half  in  that  species  of  despair  which  delights  in  self-torture  — 
propounds  them  not  altogether  because  he  believes  in  the  prophetic  or  demo- 
niac character  of  the  bird  (which,  reason  assures  him,  is  merely  repeating  a 
lesson  learned  by  rote),  but  because  he  experiences  a  frenzied  pleasure  in  so 
modelling  his  questions  as  to  receive  from  the  expected  '  Nevermore  '  the  most 
delicious  because  the  most  intolerable  of  sorrow.  Perceiving  the  opportunity 
thus  afforded  me  —  or,  more  strictly,  thus  forced  upon  me  in  the  progress  of 
the  construction  —  I  first  established  in  mind  the  climax,  or  concluding  query 
—  that  query  to  which  '  Nevermore  '  should  be  in  the  last  place  an  answer  — 
that  query  in  reply  to  which  this  word  '  Nevermore  '  should  involve  the  utmost 
conceivable  amount  of  sorrow  and  despair. 

"  Here  then  the  poem  may  be  said  to  have  its  beginning  —  at  the  end, 
where  all  works  of  art  should  begin,  for  it  was  here,  at  this  point  of  my  pre- 
considerations,  that  I  first  put  pen  to  paper  in  the  composition  of  the  stanza  :  — 

"'  Prophet,'  said  I,  'thing  of  evil  1  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil! 

By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we  both  adore,'  etc. 

"  I  composed  this  stanza  at  this  point,  first,  that,  by  establishing  the  climax, 
I  might  the  better  vary  and  graduate,  as  regards  seriousness  and  importance, 
the  preceding  queries  of  the  lover  ;  and  secondly,  that  I  might  definitely  settle 
the  rhythm,  the  metre,  and  the  length  and  general  arrangement  of  the  stanza  — 
as  well  as  graduate  the  stanzas  which  were  to  precede,  so  that  none  of  them 
might  surpass  this  in  rhythmical  effect." 

9.  "  It  will  be  observed  that  the  words  '  from  out  my  heart'  involve  the 
first  metaphorical  expression  in  the  poem.  They,  with  the  answer  '  Never- 
more,' dispose  the  mind  to  seek  a  moral  in  all  that  has  been  previously  nar- 
rated. The  reader  begins  now  to  regard  the  Raven  as  emblematical  —  but  it 
is  not  until  the  very  last  line  of  the  very  last  stanza  that  the  intention  of  mak- 
ing him  emblematical  of  Mournful  and  Never-ending  Remembrance  is  per- 
mitted distinctly  to  be  seen." 

10.  It  is  almost  ungrateful,  at  this  point,  to  indicate  any  slight  defects  in 
the  poem,  such  as  the  wretched  rhymes  in  the  sixth  stanza,  and  the  impossi- 
bility that  the  Raven's  shadow  should  fall  on  the  floor,  as  described  in  the 
last  stanza. 

After  reading  the  analysis  Poe  has  given  us  of  "The  Raven,"  it  is  not 
surprising  to  learn  that  he  regarded  it  as  "  the  greatest  poem  that  ever  was 
written." 

THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH. 

For  a  characterization  of  Poe's  genius  as  a  writer  of  tales,  see  the  preced- 
ing sketch. 

"The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death  "  is  one  of  his  shorter  tales.     It  illus- 


384  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

trates  both  his  constructive  genius  and  his  method  in  prose  fiction.     Like  all 
his  better  work,  it  is  wrought  out  with  great  care. 

In  writing  his  stories,  he  always  began,  as  he  tells  us,  with  the  considera- 
tion of  an  effect  to  be  produced  ;  and  he  then  contrived  both  incident  and 
tone  to  that  one  end.  Speaking  of  the  literary  artist,  he  says  :  "  If  his  very 
initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the  outbringing  of  this  effect,  then  he  has  failed 
in  his  first  step.  In  the  whole  composition  there  should  be  no  word  written 
of  which  the  tendency,  direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to  the  one  pre-established 
design.  And  by  such  means,  with  such  care  and  skill,  a  picture  is  at  length 
painted  which  leaves  in  the  mind  of  him  who  contemplates  it  with  a  kindred 
art,  a  sense  of  the  fullest  satisfaction."  Without  a  clear  understanding  of 
Poe's  principles  and  methods,  as  thus  set  forth,  we  shall  not  be  able  fully  to 
appreciate  the  admirable  art  and  genius  of  his  work. 

1.  This  is  the  French  form  of  the  word,  now  commonly  Anglicized  into 
mask. 

2.  This  disease  seems  to  be  one  of  Poe's  inventions. 

3.  Now  spelled  avatar  =  incarnation.     In  Sanscrit  the  word  means  a 
descent,  and  is  specially  applied  to  the  descent  upon  earth  of  a  Hindu  deity 
in  a  manifest  shape. 

4.  Pest  ban  =  plague  curse  or  interdiction. 

5.  Castellated  abbeys  seem  to  be  a  reminiscence  of  Poe's  sojourn  in  Eng- 
land. Such  reminiscences  frequently  occur  in  his  writings. 

6.  Explain  ingress  and  egress  etymologically. 

7.  Discriminate  between  contagion  and  infection.    What  is  the  etymology 
of  contagion  ? 

8.  Explain  improvisator i.     From  what  language  ? 

9.  Exact  force  of  vista. 

10.  Etymology  and  force  of  bizarre.      It  will  be  remembered  that  Poe 
was  a  good  French  scholar  —  a  fact  which  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal.     He 
sometimes  quoted  German  and  Hebrew — languages  that  he  did  not  under- 
stand. 

1 1 .  Etymology  and  meaning  of  candelabrum. 

12.  What  is  a  brazier  ? 

13.  What  is  ebony,  and  why  so  called  ? 

14.  Decora  =  outward  proprieties. 

15.  "  ffernani"    is  one  of  Victor  Hugo's  most  popular  dramas  in  the 
romantic  style.     It  contains  several  fantastic  scenes. 

16.  In    1840   Poe   published  in   Philadelphia  a  collection  of   his   prose 
fiction  with   the  title,    "Tales  of   the   Grotesque  and    Arabesque."      It  is 
regarded  as  a  happily  descriptive  title.     Can  you  paraphrase  it,  and  bring  out 
his  idea  ? 


NOTES    TO   POE.  385 

17.  Explain  the  phrase  out-Heroded  Ifcrod.     The  reference  is  to  Herod 
the  Great,  who  obtained  the  title  "  King  of  Judea,"  40  B.C.     His  long  reign 
was  stained  with  cruelties  and  atrocities  of  a  character  almost  without  parallel 
in  history.      "  The  lightest  shade  of  suspicion  sufficed  as  the  ground  for  his 
wholesale  butcheries.     Of  these,  the  one  with  which  we  are  best  acquainted 
is  the  slaughter  of  the  infants  at  Bethlehem." 

18.  i\[ummers  »=  maskers. 


386  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


XI. 

SELECTION   FROM   EMERSON. 


BECAUSE  the  soul  is  progressive,  it  never  quite  repeats  itself,  but 
in  every  act  attempts  the  production  of  a  new  and  fairer  whole.     This 
^"appears  in  works  both  of  the  useful  and  fine  arts,2  jf  we  employ  the 
/  popular  distinction  of  works  according  to  their  aim  either  at  use  or 
LJ.   beauty.    Thus  in  our  fine  arts,  not  imitation,  but  creation,3  is  the  aim. 
-     In  landscapes  the  painter  should  give  the  suggestion  of  a  fairer  crea- 
tion than  we  know.     The  details,  the  prose  of  nature,  he  should  omit, 
and  give  us  only  the  spirit  and  splendor.     He  should  know  that  the 
landscape  has  beauty  for  his  eye  because  it  expresses  a  thought  w~hich 
is  to  him  good :  and  this  because  the  same  power  which  sees  through 
his  eyes  is  seen  in  that  spectacle ;  4  and  he  will  come  to  value  the  ex- 
pression of  nature  and  not  nature  itself,  and  so  exalt  in  his  copy  the 
features  that  please  him.     He  will  give  the  gloom  of  gloom  and  the 
sunshine  of  sunshine.     In  a  portrait  he  must  inscribe  the  character 
and  not  the  features,  and  must  esteem  the  man  who  sits  to  him  as 
himself  only  an  imperfect  picture  or  likeness  of  the  aspiring  original 
within. 

What  is  that  abridgment  and  selection  we  observe  in  all  spiritual 

activity  but  itself  the  creative   impulse?  for  it  is  the   inlet   of  that 

higher  illumination  which  teaches  to  convey  a  larger  sense  by  simpler 

symbols.     What  is  a  man  but  nature's  finer  success  in  self-explica- 

<\p    ti£n? 5     What  is  a  man  but  a  finer  and  compacter  landscape  than  the 

.  horizon  figures ;  nature's  eclecticism  ?  and  what  is  his  speech,  his  love 

of  painting,  love  of  nature,  but  a  still  finer  success?  all  the  weary 

miles  and  tons  of  space  and  bulk  left  out,  and  the  spirit  or  moral  of  it 

contracted  into  a  musical  word,  or  the  most  cunning  stroke  of  the 

~|    pencil?^. 

But  the  artist  must  employ  the  symbols  in  use  in  his  day  and 
nation  to  convey  his  enlarged  sense  to  his  fellow-men.  Thus  the  new 
in  art  is  always  formed  out  of  the  old.  The  Genius  of  the  Hour 


SELECTION  FROM  EMERSON.  387 

always  sets  his  ineffaceable  seal  on  the  work  and  gives  it  an  inexpres- 
sible charm  for  the  imagination.  As  far  as  the  spiritual  character  of 
the  period  overpowers  the  artist  and  finds  expression  in  his  work,  so 
far  it  will  always  retain  a  certain  grandeur,  and  will  represent  to  future 
beholders  the  Unknown,  the  Inevitable,  the  Divine.7  No  man  can 
quite  exclude  this  element  of  Necessity  from  his  labor.  No  man  can 
quite  emancipate  himself  from  his  age  and  country,  or  produce  a 
model  in  which  the  education,  the  religion,  the  politics,  usages,  and 
arts  of  his  times  shall  have  no  share.  Though  he  were  never  so  origi- 
nal, never  so  wilful  and  fantastic,  he  cannot  wipe  out  of  his  work 
every  trace  of  the  thoughts  amidst  which  it  grew.  The  very  avoid- 
ance betrays  the  usage  he  avoids.  Above  his  will  and  out  of  his  sight 
he  is  necessitated  by  the  air  he  breathes  and  the  idea  on  which  he 
and  his  contemporaries  live  and  toil,  to  share  the  manner  of  his  times, 
without  knowing  what  that  manner  is.  Now  that  which  is  inevitable 
in  the  work  has  a  higher  charm  than  individual  talent  can  ever  give, 
inasmuch  as  the  artist's  pen  or  chisel  seems  to  have  been  held  and 
guided  by  a  gigantic  hand  8  to  inscribe  a  line  in  the  history  of  the 
human  race.  This  circumstance  gives  a  value  to  the  Egyptian  hiero- 
glyphics, to  the  Indian,  Chinese  and  Mexican  idols,  however  gross 
and  shapeless.  They  denote  the  height  of  the  human  soul  in  that 
hour,  and  were  not  fantastic,  but  sprung  from  a  necessity  as  deep  as 
the  world.  Shall  I  now  add  that  the  whole  extant  product  of  the  plas- 
tic arts  has  herein  its  highest  value,  as  history;  as  a  stroke  drawn  in 

//  the  portrait  of  that  fate,9  perfect  and  beautiful,  according  to  whose 
•)  £> ordinations  all  beings  advance  to  their  beatitude? 

/  <L  Thus,  historically  viewed,  it  has  been  the  office  of  art  to  educate  the 
-perception  of  beauty.  We  are  immersed  in  beauty,10  but  our  eyes 
have  no  clear  vision.  It  needs,  by  the  exhibition  of  single  traits,  to 
assist  and  lead  the  dormant  taste.  We  carve  and  paint,  or  we  behold 
what  is  carved  and  painted,  as  students  of  the  mystery  of  Form.  The 
virtue  of  art  lies  in  detachment,  in  sequestering  one  object  from  the 
embarrassing  variety.  Until  one  thing  comes  out  from  the  connection 
of  things,  there  can  be  enjoyment,  contemplation,  but  no  thought. 
Our  happiness  and  unhappiness  are  unproductive.  The  infant  lies  in 
a  pleasing  trance,  but  his  individual  character  and  his  practical  power 
depend  on  his  daily  progress  in  the  separation  of  things,  and  dealing 
with  one  at  a  time.  Love  and  all  the  passions  concentrate  all  exis- 
tence around  a  single  form.  It  is  the  habit  of  certain  minds  to  give 
an  all-excluding  fulness  to  the  object,  the  thought,  the  word  they 


388  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

alight  upon,  and  to  make  that  for  the  time  the  deputy  of  the  world. 
These  are  the  artists,  the  orators,  the  leaders  of  society.  The  power 
to  detach,  and  to  magnify  by  detaching,  is  the  essence  of  rhetoric  in 
the  hands  of  the  orator  and  the  poet.  This  rhetoric,  or  power  to  fix 
the  momentary  eminency  of  an  object,  so  remarkable  in  Burke,  in 
Byron,  in  Carlyle,  —  the  painter  and  sculptor  exhibit  in  color  and  in 
stone.  The  power  depends  on  the  depth  of  the  artist's  insight  of  that 
object  he  contemplates.  For  every  object  has  its  roots  in  central 
nature,11  and  may  of  course  be  so  exhibited  to  us  to  represent  the 
world.  Therefore  each  work  of  genius  is  the  tyrant  of  the  hour,  and 
concentrates  attention  on  itself.  For  the  time,  it  is  the  only  thing 
worth  naming,  to  do  that,  —  be  it  a  sonnet,  an  opera,  a  landscape,  a 
statue,  an  oration,  the  plan  of  a  temple,  of  a  campaign,  or  of  a  voyage 
of  discovery.  Presently  we  pass  to  some  other  object,  which  rounds 
itself  into  a  whole  as  did  the  first ;  for  example  a  well-laid  garden  :  and 
nothing  seems  worth  doing  but  the  laying  out  of  gardens.  I  should 
think  fire  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  if  I  were  not  acquainted  with 
air,  and  water,  and  earth.  For  it  is  the  right  and  property  of  all  nat- 
ural objects,  of  all  genuine  talents,  of  all  native  properties  whatsoever, 
to  be  for  their  moment  the  top  of  the  world.  A  squirrel  leaping  from 
bough  to  bough  and  making  the  wood  but  one  wide  tree  for  his  pleas- 
ure, fills  the  eye  not  less  than  a  lion,  is  beautiful,  self-sufficing,  and 
stands  then  and  there  for  nature.12  A  good  ballad  draws  my  ear  and 
heart  whilst  I  listen,  as  much  as  an  epic  has  done  before.  A  dog, 
drawn  by  a  master,  or  a  litter  of  pigs,  satisfies  and  is  a  reality  not  less 
than  the  frescoes  of  Angelo.  From  this  succession  of  excellent  objects 
learn  we  at  last  the  immensity  of  the  world,  the  opulence  of  human 
nature,  which  can  run  out  to  infinitude  in  any  direction.  But  I  also 
learn  that  what  astonished  and  fascinated  me  in  the  first  work,  aston- 
ished me  in  the  second  work  also ;  that  excellence  of  all  things  is  one. 
The  office  of  painting  and  sculpture  seems  to  be  merely  initial. 
The  best  pictures  can  easily  tell  us  their  last  secret.  The  best  pictures 
p ')  are  rude  draughts  of  a  few  of  the  miraculous  dots  and  lines  and  dyes 
which  make  up  the  ever-changing  "landscape  with  figures"  amidst 
which  we  dwell.  Painting  seems  to  be  to  the  eye  what  dancing  is  to 
the  limbs.  When  that  has  educated  the  frame  to  self-possession,  to 
nimbleness,  to  grace,  the  steps  of  the  dancing-master  are  better  for- 
gotten ;  so  painting  teaches  me  the  splendor  of  color  and  the  expression 
of  form,  and  as  I  see  many  pictures  and  higher  genius  in  the  art,  I  see 
the  boundless  opulence  of  the  pencil,  the  indifferency  in  which  the 


SELECTION  FROM  EMERSON.  389 

artist  stands  free  to  choose  out  of  the  possible  forms.  If  he  can  draw 
every  thing,  why  draw  any  thing?  and  then  is  my  eye  opened  to  the 
eternal  picture  which  nature  paints  in  the  street,  with  moving  men  and 
children,  beggars  and  fine  ladies,  draped  in  red  and  green  and  blue 
and  gray ;  long-haired,  grizzled,  white-faced,  black-faced,  wrinkled, 
giant,  dwarf,  expanded,  elfish,  —  capped  and  based  by  heaven,  earth, 
and  sea.*3 

A  gallery  of  sculpture  teaches  more  austerely  the  same  lesson.  As 
picture  teaches  the  coloring,  so  sculpture  the  anatomy  of  form.  When 
I  have  seen  fine  statues  and  afterwards  enter  a  public  assembly,  I  un- 
derstand well  what  he  meant  who  said,  "  When  I  have  been  reading 
Homer,  all  men  look  like  giants."  I  too  see  that  painting  and  sculp- 
ture are  gymnastics  of  the  eye,  training  to  the  niceties  and  curiosities 
of  its  function.  There  is  no  statue  like  this  living  man,  with  his  in- 
finite advantage  over  all  ideal  sculpture,  of  perpetual  variety.  What 
a  gallery  of  art  have  I  here !  No  mannerist  made  these  varied  groups 
and  diverse  original  single  figures.  Here  is  the  artist  himself  impro- 
vising, grim  and  glad,  at  his  block.  Now  one  thought  strikes  him, 
now  another,  and  with  each  moment  he  alters  the  whole  air,  attitude, 
and  expression  of  his  clay.  Away  with  your  nonsense  of  oil  and  easels, 
of  marble  and  chisels :  except  to  open  your  eyes  to  the  witchcraft  of 
eternal  art,  they  are  hypocritical  rubbish.14 

The  reference  of  all  production  at  last  to  an  aboriginal  Power 
explains  the  traits  common  to  all  works  of  the  highest  art,  that  they 
are  universally  intelligible ;  that  they  restore  to  us  the  simplest  states 
of  mind ;  and  are  religious.  Since  what  skill  is  therein  shown  is  the 
reappearance  of  the  original  soul,  a  jet  of  pure  light,  it  should  produce 
a  similar  impression  to  that  made  by  natural  objects.  In  happy  hours, 
nature  appears  to  us  one  with  art;  art  perfected,  —  the  work  of  genius. 
And  the  individual  in  whom  simple  tastes  and  susceptibility  to  all  the 
great  human  influences  overpower  the  accidents  of  a  local  and  special 
culture,  is  the  best  critic  of  art.'5  Though  we  travel  the  world  over  to 
find  the  beautiful,  we  must  carry  it  with  us,  or  we  find  it  not.  The 
best  of  beauty  is  a  finer  charm  than  skill  in  surfaces,  in  outlines,  or 
rules  of  art  can  ever  teach,  namely  a  radiation  from  the  work  of  art,  of 
human  character,16  —  a  wonderful  expression  through  stone,  or  canvas, 
or  musical  sound,  of  the  deepest  and  simplest  attributes  of  our  nature, 
and  therefore  most  intelligible  at  last  to  those  souls  which  have  these 
attributes.  In  the  sculptures  of  the  Greeks,  in  the  masonry  of  the 
Romans,  and  in  the  pictures  of  the  Tuscan  and  Venetian  masters,  the 


390  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

highest  charm  is  the  universal  language  they  speak.  A  confession  of 
moral  nature,  of  purity,  love,  and  hope,  breathes  from  them  all.  That 
which  we  carry  to  them,  the  same  we  bring  back  more  fairly  illustrated 
in  the  memory.  The  traveller  who  visits  the  Vatican  and  passes  from 
,  chamber  to  chamber  through  galleries  of  statues,  vases,  sarcophagi, 
,^  and  candelabra,  through  all  forms  of  beauty  cut  in  the  richest  materials, 
is  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  simplicity  of  the  principles  out  of  which 
they  all  sprung,  and  that  they  had  their  origin  from  thoughts  and  laws 
in  his  own  breast.  He  studies  the  technical  rules  on  these  wonderful 
remains,  but  forgets  that  these  works  were  not  always  thus  constel- 
lated ;  that  they  are  the  contributions  of  many  ages  and  many  coun- 
tries ;  that  each  came  out  of  the  solitary  workshop  of  one  artist,  who 
toiled  perhaps  in  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  other  sculpture,  created 
his  work  without  other  model  save  life,  household  life,  and  the  sweet 
and  smart  of  personal  relations,  of  beating  hearts,  and  meeting  eyes ; 
of  poverty  and  necessity  and  hope  and  fear.  These  were  his  inspira- 
tions, and  these  are  the  effects  he  carries  home  to  your  heart  and  mind. 
In  proportion  to  his  force,  the  artist  will  find  in  his  work  an  outlet  for 
his  proper  character.  He  must  not  be  in  any  manner  pinched  or  hin- 
dered by  his  material,  but  through  his  necessity  of  imparting  himself 
the  adamant  will  be  wax  in  his  hands,  and  will  allow  an  adequate  com- 
munication of  himself,  in  his  full  stature  and  proportion.  Not  a  con- 
ventional nature  and  culture  need  he  cumber  himself  with,  nor  ask 
what  is  the  mode  in  Rome  or  in  Paris,  but  that  house  and  weather  and 
manner  of  living  which  poverty  and  the  fate  of  birth  have  made  at  once 
so  odious  and  so  dear,  in  the  gray  unpainted  wood  cabin,  on  the  corner 
of  a  New  Hampshire  farm,  or  in  the  log  hut  of  the  backwoods,  or  in 
the  narrow  lodging  where  he  has  endured  the  constraints  and  seeming 
of  a  city  poverty,  —  will  serve  as  well  as  any  other  condition  as  the 
symbol  of  a  thought  which  pours  itself  indifferently  through  all. '7 

I  remember  when  in  my  younger  days  I  had  heard  of  the  wonders 
of  Italian  painting,  I  fancied  the  great  pictures  would  be  great  stran- 
gers ;  some  surprising  combination  of  color  and  form  ;  a  foreign  won- 
der, barbaric  pearl  and  gold,  like  the  spontoons  and  standards  of 
the  militia,  which  plays  such  pranks  in  the  eyes  and  imaginations  of 
school-boys.  I  was  to  see  and  acquire  I  knew  not  what.  When  I 
came  at  last  to  Rome  and  saw  with  eyes  the  pictures,  I  found  that 
genius  left  to  novices  the  gay  and  fantastic  and  ostentatious,  and  itself 
pierced  directly  to  the  simple  and  true  ;  that  it  was  familiar  and  sin- 
cere ;  that  it  was  the  old,  eternal  fact  I  had  met  already  in  so  many 


SELECTION  FRO  At  EMERSON.  391 

forms ;  unto  which  I  lived  ;  that  it  was  the  plain  you  and  me  I  knew  so 
well,  —  had  left  at  home  in  so  many  conversations.  I  had  the  same 
experience  already  in  a  church  at  Naples.  There  I  saw  that  nothing 
was  changed  with  me  but  the  place,  and  said  to  myself,  — '  Thou 
foolish  child,  hast  thou  come  out  hither,  over  four  thousand  miles  of 
salt  water,  to  find  that  which  was  perfect  to  thee  there  at  home  ? ' — 
that  fact  I  saw  again  in  the  Academmia  at  Naples,  in  the  chambers  of 
sculpture,  and  yet  again  when  I  came  to  Rome  and  to  the  paintings 
of  Raphael,  Angelo,  Sacchi,  Titian,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  "What, 
old  mole  !  workest  thou  in  the  earth  so  fast  ?  "  It  had  travelled  by  my 
side :  that  which  I  fancied  I  had  left  in  Boston  was  here  in  the  Vati- 
can, and  again  at  Milan  and  at  Paris,  and  made  all  travelling  ridicu- 
lous as  a  treadmill.18  I  now  require  this  of  all  pictures,  that  they 
domesticate  me,  not  that  they  dazzle  me.  Pictures  must  not  be  too 
picturesque.  Nothing  astonishes  men  so  much  as  common  sense  and 
plain  dealing.  All  great  actions  have  been  simple,  and  all  great 
pictures  are. 

The  Transfiguration,  by  Raphael,  is  an  eminent  example  of  this 
peculiar  merit.  A  calm  benignant  beauty  shines  over  all  this  picture, 
and  goes  directly  to  the  heart.  It  seems  almost  to  call  you  by  name. 
The  sweet  and  sublime  face  of  Jesus  is  beyond  praise,  yet  how  it  dis- 
appoints all  florid  expectations  !  This  familiar,  simple,  home-speaking 
countenance  is  as  if  one  should  meet  a  friend.  The  knowledge  of 
picture-dealers  has  its  value,  but  listen  not  to  their  criticism  when 
your  heart  is  touched  by  genius.  It-was  not  painted  for  them,  it  was 
painted  for  you ;  for  such  as  had  eyes  capable  of  being  touched  by 
simplicity  and  lofty  emotions. 

Yet  when  we  have  said  all  our  fine  things  about  the  arts,  we  must 
end  with  a  frank  confession  that  the  arts,  as  we  know  them,  are  but 
initial.  Our  best  praise  is  given  to  what  they  aimed  and  promised, 
not  to  the  actual  result.  He  has  conceived  meanly  of  the  resources  of 
man,  who  believes  that  the  best  age  of  production  is  past.  The  real 
value  of  the  Iliad  or  the  Transfiguration  is  as  signs  of  power;  billows 
or  ripples  they  are  of  the  great  stream  of  tendency ;  tokens  of  the 
everlasting  effort  to  produce,  which  even  in  its  worst  estate  the  soul 
betrays.  Art  has  not  come  to  its  maturity  if  it  do  not  put  itself 
abreast  with  the  most  potent  influences  of  the  world,  if  it  is  not  practi- 
cal and  moral,  if  it  do  not  stand  in  connection  with  the  conscience,  if 
it  do  not  make  the  poor  and  uncultivated  feel  that  it  addresses  them 
with  a  voice  of  lofty  cheer.'9  There  is  higher  work  for  Art  than  the 


392  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

arts.  They  are  abortive  births  of  an  imperfect  or  vitiated  instinct. 
Art  is  the  need  to  create ;  but  in  its  essence,  immense  and  universal, 
it  is  impatient  of  working  with  lame  or  tired  hands,  and  of  making 
cripples  and  monsters,  such  as  all  pictures  and  statues  are.  Nothing 
less  than  the  creation  of  man  and  nature  is  its  end.  A  man  should 
find  in  it  an  outlet  for  his  whole  energy.  He  may  paint  and  carve  only 
as  long  as  he  can  do  that.  Art  should  exhilarate,  and  throw  down 
the  walls  of  circumstance  on  every  side,  awakening  in  the  beholder 
the  same  sense  of  universal  relation  and  power  which  the  work  evinced 
in  the  artist,  and  its  highest  effect  is  to  make  new  artists. 

Already  History  is  old  enough  to  witness  the  old  age  and  disap- 
pearance of  particular  arts.  The  art  of  sculpture  is  long  ago  perished 
to  any  real  effect.  It  was  originally  an  useful  art,  a  mode  of  writing,  a 
savage's  record  of  gratitude  or  devotion,  and  among  a  people  pos- 
sessed of  a  wonderful  perception  of  form  this  childish  carving  was  re- 
fined to  the  utmost  splendor  of  effect.  But  it  is  the  game  of  a  rude 
and  youthful  people,  and  not  the  manly  labor  of  a  wise  and  spiritual 
nation.  Under  an  oak-tree  loaded  with  leaves  and  nuts,  under  a  sky 
full  of  eternal  eyes,  I  stand  in  a  thoroughfare.  Cut  in  the  works  of  our 
plastic  arts,  and  especially  of  sculpture,  creation  is  driven  into  a  cor- 
ner. I  cannot  hide  from  myself  that  there  is  a  certain  appearance  of 
paltriness,  as  of  toys  and  the  trumpery  of  a  theatre,  in  sculpture. 
Nature  transcends  all  our  moods  of  thought,  and  its  secret  we  do  not 
yet  find.  But  the  gallery  stands  at  the  mercy  of  our  moods,  and  there 
is  a  moment  when  it  becomes  frivolous.  I  do  not  wonder  that  New- 
ton, with  an  attention  habitually  engaged  on  the  paths  of  planets  and 
suns,  should  have  wondered  what  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  found  to 
admire  in  "stone  dolls."  Sculpture  may  serve  to  teach  the  pupil  how 
deep  is  the  secret  of  form,  how  purely  the  spirit  can  translate  its  mean- 
ings into  that  eloquent  dialect.  But  the  statue  will  look  cold  and  false 
before  that  new  activity  which  needs  to  roll  through  all  things,  and  is 
impatient  of  counterfeits  and  things  not  alive.  Picture  and  sculpture 
are  the  celebrations  and  festivities  of  form.  But  true  art  is  never 
fixed,  but  always  flowing.  The  sweetest  music  is  not  in  the  oratorio, 
but  in  the  human  voice  when  it  speaks  from  its  instant  life  tones  of 
tenderness,  truth,  or  courage.  The  oratorio  has  already  lost  its  rela- 
tion to  the  morning,  to  the  sun,  and  the  earth,  but  that  persuading 
voice  is  in  tune  with  these.  All  works  of  art  should  not  be  detached, 
but  extempore  performances.  A  great  man  is  a  new  statue  in  every 
attitude  and  action.  A  beautiful  woman  is  a  picture  which  drives  all 


SELECTION  FROM  EMERSON.  393 

beholders  nobly  mad.  Life  may  be  lyric  or  epic,  as  well  as  a  poem  or 
a  romance. 

A  true  announcement  of  the  law  of  creation,  if  a  man  were  found 
worthy  to  declare  it,  would  carry  art  up  into  the  kingdom  of  nature, 
and  destroy  its  separate  and  contrasted  existence.20  The  fountains  of 
invention  and  beauty  in  modern  society  are  all  but  dried  up.  A  popu- 
lar novel,  a  theatre,  or  a  ballroom  makes  us  feel  that  we  are  all  paupers 
in  the  almshouse  of  this  world,  without  dignity,  without  skill  or  indus- 
try. Art  is  as  poor  and  low.  The  old  tragic  Necessity,  which  lowers 
on  the  brows  even  of  the  Venuses  and  the  Cupids  of  the  antique,  and 
furnishes  the  sole  apology  for  the  intrusion  of  such  anomalous  figures 
into  nature,  —  namely  that  they  were  inevitable ;  that  the  artist  was 
drunk  with  a  passion  for  form  which  he  could  not  resist,  and  which 
vented  itself  in  these  fine  extravagancies,  —  no  longer  dignifies  the 
chisel  or  the  pencil.21  But  the  artist  and  the  connoisseur  now  seek  in 
art  the  exhibition  of  their  talent,  or  an  asylum  from  the  evils  of  life. 
Men  are  not  well  pleased  with  the  figure  they  make  in  their  own  im- 
aginations, and  they  flee  to  art,  and  convey  their  better  sense  in  an 
oratorio,  a  statue,  or  a  picture.  Art  makes  the  same  effort  which  a 
sensual  prosperity  makes ;  namely,  to  detach  the  beautiful  from  the 
useful,  to  do  up  the  work  as  unavoidable,  and,  hating  it,  pass  on  to 
enjoyment.  These  solaces  and  compensations,  this  division  of  beauty 
from  use,  the  laws  of  nature  do  not  permit.  As  soon  as  beauty  is 
sought,  not  from  religion  and  love  but  for  pleasure,  it  degrades  the 
seeker.  High  beauty  is  no  longer  attainable  by  him  in  canvas  or  in 
stone,  in  sound,  or  in  lyrical  construction ;  an  effeminate,  prudent, 
sickly  beauty,  which  is  not  beauty,  is  all  that  can  be  formed ;  for  the 
hand  can  never  execute  anything  higher  than  the  character  can  inspire. 

The  art  that  thus  separates  is  itself  first  separated.  Art  must  not 
be  a  superficial  talent,  but  must  begin  farther  back  in  man.  Now 
men  do  not  see  nature  to  be  beautiful,  and  they  go  to  make  a  statue 
which  shall  be.  They  abhor  men  as  tasteless,  dull,  and  inconvertible, 
and  console  themselves  with  color-bags  and  blocks  of  marble.  They 
reject  life  as  prosaic,  and  create  a  death  which  they  call  poetic. 
They  despatch  the  day's  weary  chores,  and  fly  to  voluptuous  reveries. 
They  eat  and  drink,  that  they  may  afterwards  execute  the  ideal.  Thus 
is  art  vilified ;  the  name  conveys  to  the  mind  its  secondary  and  bad 
senses  ;  it  stands  in  the  imagination  as  somewhat  contrary  to  nature, 
and  struck  with  death  from  the  first.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  begin 
higher  up,  —  to  serve  the  ideal  before  they  eat  and  drink  ;  to  serve  the 


394  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

ideal  in  eating  and  drinking,  in  drawing  the  breath,  and  in  the  func- 
tions of  life?  Beauty  must  come  back  to  the  useful  arts,  and  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  fine  and  the  useful  arts  be  forgotten.  If  history 
were  truly  told,  if  life  were  nobly  spent,  it  would  be  no  longer  easy  or 
possible  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  In  nature,  all  is  use- 
ful, all  is  beautiful.  It  is  therefore  beautiful  because  it  is  alive,  mov- 
ing, reproductive ;  it  is  therefore  useful  because  it  is  symmetrical  and 
fair.  Beauty  will  not  come  at  the  call  of  a  legislature,  nor  will  it  repeat 
in  England  or  America  its  history  in  Greece.  It  will  come,  as  always, 
unannounced,  and  spring  up  between  the  feet  of  brave  and  earnest 
men.22  It  is  in  vain  that  we  look  for  genius  to  reiterate  its  miracles 
in  the  old  arts  ;  it  is  its  instinct  to  find  beauty  and  holiness  in  new  and 
necessary  facts,  in  the  field  and  roadside,  in  the  shop  and  mill.  Pro- 
ceeding from  a  religious  heart  it  will  raise  to  a  divine  use  the  railroad, 
the  insurance  office,  the  joint-stock  company ;  our  law,  our  primary 
assemblies,  our  commerce,  the  galvanic  battery,  the  electric  jar,  the 
prism,  and  the  chemist's  retort ;  in  which  we  seek  now  only  an  econom- 
ical use.  Is  not  the  selfish  and  even  cruel  aspect  which  belongs  to  our 
great  mechanical  works,  to  mills,  railways,  and  machinery,  the  effect 
of  the  mercenary  impulses  which  these  works  obey  ?  When  its  errands 
are  noble  and  adequate,  a  steamboat  bridging  the  Atlantic  between 
Old  and  New  England,  and  arriving  at  its  ports  with  the  punctuality 
of  a  planet,  —  is  a  step  of  man  into  harmony  with  nature.  The  boat 
at  St.  Petersburg,  which  plies  along  the  Lena  by  magnetism,  needs 
little  to  make  it  sublime.  When  science  is  learned  in  love,  and  its 
powers  are  wielded  by  love,  they  will  appear  the  supplements  and  con- 
tinuations of  the  material  creation. 


NOTES    TO   EMERSON.  395 


NOTES   TO   EMERSON. 

THE  essay  on  "  Art  "  is  taken  from  the  first  volume  of  "Essays."  For 
a  general  introduction,  read  the  preceding  sketch.  A  more  exact  title  would 
be  "Some  Thoughts  on  Art."  In  "Society  and  Solitude  "  Emerson  pub- 
lished a  second  essay  on  "  Art,"  from  which  most  of  the  following  notes  are 
taken. 

1.  The  following  are  Emerson's  definitions  of  art:   "The  conscious  ut- 
terance of  thought,  by  speech  or  action,  to  any  end,  is  Art."     "  Art  is  the 
spirit's  voluntary  use  and  combination  of  things  to  serve  its  end."     "Art, 
universally,  is  the  spirit  creative." 

2.  "The  useful  arts  comprehend  not  only  those  that  lie  next  to  instinct, 
as  agriculture,  building,  weaving,  etc.,  but  also  navigation,  practical  chemis- 
try, and  the  construction  of  all  the  grand  and  delicate  tools  and  instruments 
by  which  man  serves  himself  ;    as  language,  the  watch,  the  ship,  the  decimal 
cipher  ;   and  also  the  sciences,  as  far  as  they  are  made  serviceable  to  political 
economy." 

"  Music,  Eloquence,  Poetry,  Painting,  Sculpture,  Architecture.  This  is 
a  rough  enumeration  of  the  Fine  Arts." 

3.  "  The  facts  of  nature,  to  possess  a  serious  interest  for  us  upon  canvas, 
require  to  be  heated  with  poetic  fire,  transfused,  and  newly  wrought  in  the 
crucible  of  the  painter's  mind."  — VAN  DYKE,  Art  for  Art's  Sake. 

4.  Here  we  have  Emerson's  idealism:  "  There  is  but  one  Reason.     The 
mind  that  made  the  world  is  not  one  mind,  but  the  mind.     Every  man  is  an 
inlet  to  the  same,  and  to  all  of  the  same."     All  nature,  as  a  manifestation  of 
the  infinite  Spirit,  is  full  of  meaning. 

5.  This  means  that  man  is  the  crowning  point,  toward  which  nature  has 
been  climbling  through  all  lower  beings,  whether  animate  or  inanimate. 

6.  The  fine  arts  are  the  summit  of  man's  attainment,  as  he  himself  is  the 
summit  of  nature's  attainment. 

7.  "The  Gothic  cathedrals  were  built  when  the  builder  and  the  priest 
and  the  people  were  overpowered  by  their  faith.     Love  and  fear  laid  every 
stone.     The  Madonnas  of  Raphael  and  Titian  were  made  to  be  worshipped." 
In  "  The  Problem  "  the  same  idea  is  beautifully  expressed:  — 

"  The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome 
Ana  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity  ; 


39^  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free ; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew:  — 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew." 

8.  This,  of  course,  is  the  universal  Spirit,  which  pervades  and  moves  all 
things;   whose  gradual  unfolding  in  nature  is  the  source  of  all  history. 

9.  Emerson  means  by  fate  "  the  invincible  order  and  unity  of  the  world 
of  spirit,  that  its  methods  are  perfect  and  invariable ;  that  justice  can  never  be 
violated;  that  the  truth  is  always  the  same,  and  always  faithful  to  itself."  — 
COOKE. 

10.  "  Beauty  in  its  largest  and  profoundest  sense  is  one  expression  for 
the  universe  ;  God  in  the  all-fair.     Truth  and  goodness  and  beauty  are  but 
different  faces  of  the  same  All.     But  beauty  in  nature  is  not  ultimate.     It  is 
the  herald  of  inward  and  eternal  beauty." 

11.  As  a   product  of   the  universal    Spirit,  whose   character  is  reflected 
alike  in  great  and  small.     "The  true  doctrine  of  the  omnipresence  is,  that 
God  reappears  with  all  his  parts  in  every  moss  and  cobweb.     The  value  of 
the  universe  contrives  to  throw  itself  into  every  point."     In  "  Blight  "  Emer- 
son says : — 

"  If  I  know 
Only  the  herbs  and  simples  of  the  wood, 


O,  that  were  much,  and  I  could  be  a  part 
Of  the  round  day,  related  to  the  sun 
And  planted  world." 

Compare  Tennyson's  — 

"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall." 
12.    Similarly  in  Emerson's  "  Fable:  "  — 

"The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 
Had  a  quarrel, 

And  the  former  called  the  latter  'Little  Prig;' 
Bun  replied, 

'  You  are  doubtless  very  big  ; 
But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 
Must  be  taken  in  together, 
To  make  up  a  year 
And  a  sphere. 
And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 
To  occupy  my  place. 
If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you, 
You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry. 
I'll  not  deny  you  make 
A  very  pretty  squirrel  track; 


NOTES    TO   EMERSON.  397 

Talents  differ ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put ; 
If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut.'  " 

13.  "  'Tis  the  privilege  of  Art 

Thus  to  play  its  cheerful  part, 
Man  on  earth  to  acclimate 
And  bend  the  exile  to  his  fate, 
And,  moulded  of  one  element 
With  the  days  and  firmament, 
Teach  him  on  these  stairs  to  climb, 
And  live  on  even  terms  with  Time ; 
Whilst  upper  life  the  slender  rill 
Of  human  sense  doth  overfill." 

14.  The   highest  end  of  human  art  is   to  teach  man  to  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  "eternal  art  "  in  the  world  about  us. 

15.  "  The  universal  Soul  is  the  alone  creator  of  the  useful  and  the  beau- 
tiful ;    therefore,  to  make  anything  useful  or  beautiful,  the  individual  must  be 
submitted  to  the  universal  Mind." 

1 6.  In  the  poem  "  Destiny,"  Emerson  says:  — 

"  You  must  add  the  untaught  strain 
That  sheds  beauty  on  the  rose. 
There  is  a  melody  born  of  melody, 
Which  melts  the  world  into  a  sea. 
Toil  could  never  compass  it ; 
Art  its  height  could  never  hit ; 
But  a  music  music-born 
Well  may  Jove  and  Juno  scorn." 

17.  "To  attain  sublimity  in  painting,  the  thought  must  be  so  all-absorb- 
ing that  it  overawes  form;  it  must  carry  us  away  with  its  sudden  revelation 
of  might;    it  must  present  to  us  the  individual  strength  of  its  producer  so  viv- 
idly that  in  its  contemplation  we   forget  the  forms  of  the  picture." — VAN 
DYKE,  Art  for  Art's  Sake. 

1 8.  In  "  The  Day's  Ration,"  Emerson  says:  — 

"  Why  seek  Italy, 

Who  cannot  circumnavigate  the  sea 
Of  thoughts  and  things  at  home,  but  still  adjourn 
The  nearest  matters  for  a  thousand  days." 

19.  "  Proceeding  from  absolute  mind,  whose  nature  is  goodness  as  much 
as  truth,  the  great  works  are  always  attuned  to  moral  nature.     If  the  earth 
and  sea  conspire  with  virtue  more  than  vice,  — so  do  the  masterpieces  of  art." 

20.  "We  feel  in  seeing  a  noble  building  which  rhymes  well,  as  we  do 
in  hearing  a  perfect  song,  that  it  is  spiritually  organic  ;  that  it  had  a  necessity 
in  nature  for  being  ;  was  one  of  the  possible  forms  in  the  Divine  Mind,  and  is 


398  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

now  only  discovered  and  executed  by  the  artist,  not  arbitrarily  composed  by 
him.  And  so  every  genuine  work  of  art  has  as  much  reason  for  being  as  the 
earth  and  the  sun."  In  "  The  Problem  "  we  have  the  same  thought  again :  — 
"  Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon, 

As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone, 

And  Morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids 

To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids ; 

O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky, 

As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye ; 

For  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere 

These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air ; 

And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 

Adopted  them  into  her  race, 

And  granted  them  an  equal  date 

With  Andes  and  with  Ararat." 

21.  "  Arising  out  of  eternal  Reason,  one  and  perfect,  whatever  is  beau- 
tiful rests  on  the  foundation  of  the  necessary.     Nothing  is  arbitrary,  nothing 
is  insulated  in  beauty.     It  depends  forever  on  the  necessary  and  the  useful." 

22.  "Beauty,  truth,  and  goodness  are  not  obsolete  ;    they  spring  eternal 
in  the  breast  of  man  ;  they  are  as  indigenous  in  Massachusetts  as  in  Tuscany 
or  the  Isles  of  Greece.     And  that  eternal  Spirit,  whose  triple  face  they  are, 
moulds  from  them  forever,  for  his  mortal  child,  images  to  remind  him  of 
the  Infinite  and  Fair." 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HAWTHORNE  399 


XII. 

SELECTIONS    FROM    HAWTHORNE. 
THE   GRAY   CHAMPION. 

THERE  was  once  a  time  when  New  England  groaned  under  the 
actual  pressure  of  heavier  wrongs  than  those  threatened  ones  which 
brought  on  the  Revolution.  James  II.,  the  bigoted  successor  of 
Charles  the  Voluptuous,  had  annulled  the  charters '  of  all  the  colonies, 
and  sent  a  harsh  and  unprincipled  soldier  to  take  away  our  liberties 
and  endanger  our  religion.  The  administration  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros 
lacked  scarcely  a  single  characteristic  of  tyranny : 2  a  Governor  and 
Council,  holding  office  from  the  King,  and  wholly  independent  of  the 
country  ;  laws  made  and  taxes  levied  without  concurrence  of  the  people, 
immediate  or  by  their  representatives ;  the  rights  of  private  citizens 
violated,  and  the  titles  of  all  landed  property  declared  void ;  the  voice 
of  complaint  stifled  by  restrictions  on  the  press  ;  and,  finally,  disaffec- 
tion overawed  by  the  first  band  of  mercenary  troops  that  ever  marched 
on  our  free  soil.  For  two  years  our  ancestors  were  kept  in  sullen  sub- 
mission, by  that  filial  love  which  had  invariably  secured  their  allegiance 
to  the  mother-country,  whether  its  head  chanced  to  be  a  Parliament, 
Protector,  or  popish  Monarch.  Till  these  evil  times,  however,  such 
allegiance  had  been  merely  nominal,  and  the  colonists  had  ruled  them- 
selves, enjoying  far  more  freedom  than  is  even  yet  the  privilege  of  the 
native  subjects  of  Great  Britain. 

At  length  a  rumor  readied  our  shores  that  the  Prince  of  Orange  3 
had  ventured  on  an  enterprise  the  success  of  which  would  be  the  tri- 
umph of  civil  and  religious  rights  and  the  salvation  of  New  England. 
It  was  but  a  doubtful  whisper;  it  might  be  false,  or  the  attempt  might 
fail ;  and,  in  either  case,  the  man  that  stirred  against  King  James  would 
lose  his  head.  Still  the  intelligence  produced  a  marked  effect.  The 
people  smiled  mysteriously  in  the  streets,  and  threw  bold  glances  at 
their  oppressors ;  while  far  and  wide  there  was  a  subdued  and  silent 
agitation,  as  if  the  slightest  signal  would  rouse  the  whole  land  from  its 
sluggish  despondency.  Aware  of  their  danger,  the  rulers  resolved  to 


400  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

avert  it  by  an  imposing  display  of  strength,  and  perhaps  to  confirm 
their  despotism  by  yet  harsher  measures.  One  afternoon  in  April, 
1689,  Sir  Edmund  Andros  and  his  favorite  councillors,  being  warm 
with  wine,  assembled  the  red-coats  of  the  Governor's  Guard,  and  made 
their  appearance  in  the  streets  of  Boston.4  The  sun  was  near  setting 
when  the  march  commenced. 

The  roll  of  the  drum,  at  that  unquiet  crisis,  seemed  to  go  through 
the  streets  less  as  the  martial  music  of  the  soldiers  than  as  a  muster- 
call  to  the  inhabitants  themselves.  A  multitude,  by  various  avenues, 
assembled  in  King-street,  which  was  destined  to  be  the  scene,  nearly 
a  century  afterwards,5  of  another  encounter  between  the  troops  of  Brit- 
ain and  a  people  struggling  against  her  tyranny.  Though  more  than 
sixty  years  had  elapsed  since  the  Pilgrims  came,  this  crowd  of  their 
descendants  still  showed  the  strong  and  sombre  features  of  their  char- 
acter, perhaps  more  strikingly  in  such  a  stern  emergency  than  on  hap- 
pier occasions.  There  were  the  sober  garb,  the  general  severity  of 
mien,  the  gloomy  but  undismayed  expression,  the  scriptural  forms  of 
speech,  and  the  confidence  in  Heaven's  blessing  on  a  righteous  cause, 
which  would  have  marked  a  band  of  the  original  Puritans  when  threat- 
ened by  some  peril  of  the  wilderness.  Indeed,  it  was  not  yet  time  for 
the  old  spirit  to  be  extinct ;  since  there  were  men  in  the  street,  that 
day,  who  had  worshipped  there  beneath  the  trees,  before  a  house  was 
reared  to  the  God  for  whom  they  had  become  exiles.  Old  soldiers  of 
the  Parliament6  were  here  too,  smiling  grimly  at  the  thought  that  their 
aged  arms  might  strike  another  blow  against  the  house  of  Stuart. 
Here,  also,  were  the  veterans  of  King  Philip's  war,7  who  had  burned 
villages  and  slaughtered  young  and  old  with  pious  fierceness,  while 
the  godly  souls  throughout  the  land  were  helping  them  with  prayer. 
Several  ministers  were  scattered  among  the  crowd,  which,  unlike  all 
other  mobs,  regarded  them  with  such  reverence,  as  if  there  were  sanc- 
tity in  their  very  garments.  These  holy  men  exerted  their  influence 
to  quiet  the  people,  but  not  to  disperse  them.  Meantime,  the  purpose 
of  the  Governor,  in  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  town  at  a  period  when 
the  slightest  commotion  might  throw  the  country  into  a  ferment,  was 
almost  the  universal  subject  of  inquiry,  and  variously  explained. 

"  Satan  will  strike  his  master-stroke  presently,"  cried  some,  "  be- 
cause he  knoweth  that  his  time  is  short.  All  our  godly  pastors  are  to 
be  dragged  to  prison!  We  shall  see  them  at  a  Smith  field8  fire  in 
King-street ! " 

Hereupon,  the  people  of  each  parish  gathered  closer  round  their 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HAWTHORNE.  401 

minister,  who  looked  calmly  upwards  and  assumed  a  more  apostolic 
dignity,  as  well  befitted  a  candidate  for  the  highest  honor  of  his  pro- 
fession, the  crown  of  martyrdom.  It  was  actually  fancied,  at  that 
period,  that  New  England  might  have  a  John  Rogers9  of  her  own,  to 
take  the  place  of  that  worthy  in  the  Primer.10 

"The  Pope  of  Rome  has  given  orders  for  a  new  St.  Bartholo- 
mew!"11 cried  others.  "We  are  to  be  massacred,  man  and  male 
child ! " 

Neither  was  this  rumor  wholly  discredited,  although  the  wiser  class 
believed  the  Governor's  object  somewhat  less  atrocious.  His  prede- 
cessor under  the  old  charter,  Bradstreet,12  a  venerable  companion  of 
the  first  settlers,  was  known  to  be  in  town.  There  were  grounds  for 
conjecturing  that  Sir  Edmund  Andros  intended,  at  once,  to  strike 
terror,  by  a  parade  of  military  force,  and  to  confound  the  opposite  fac- 
tion, by  possessing  himself  of  their  chief. 

"Stand  firm  for  the  old  charter  Governor!"  shouted  the  crowd, 
seizing  upon  the  idea.  "  The  good  old  Governor  Bradstreet !  " 

While  this  cry  was  at  the  loudest,  the  people  were  surprised  by  the 
well-known  figure  of  Governor  Bradstreet  himself,  a  patriarch  of  nearly 
ninety,  who  appeared  on  the  elevated  steps  of  a  door,  and,  with  char- 
acteristic mildness,  besought  them  to  submit  to  the  constituted  au- 
thorities. 

"  My  children,"  concluded  this  venerable  person,  "  do  nothing 
rashly.  Cry  not  aloud,  but  pray  for  the  welfare  of  New  England,  and 
expect  patiently  what  the  Lord  will  do  in  this  matter!" 

The  event  was  soon  to  be  decided.  All  this  time,  the  roll  of  the 
drum  had  been  approaching  through  Cornhill,  louder  and  deeper,  till 
with  reverberations  from  house  to  house,  and  the  regular  tramp  of 
martial  footsteps,  it  burst  into  the  street.  A  double  rank  of  soldiers 
made  their  appearance,  occupying  the  whole  breadth  of  the  passage, 
with  shouldered  matchlocks,13  and  matches  burning,  so  as  to  present 
a  row  of  fires  in  the  dusk.  Their  steady  march  was  like  the  progress 
of  a  machine  that  would  roll  irresistibly  over  everything  in  its  way. 
Next,  moving  slowly,  with  a  confused  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  pavement, 
rode  a  party  of  mounted  gentlemen,  the  central  figure  being  Sir  Ed- 
mund Andros,  elderly,  but  erect  and  soldier-like.  Those  around  him 
were  his  favorite  councillors,  and  the  bitterest  foes  of  New  England. 
At  his  right  hand  rode  Edward  Randolph,  our  arch-enemy,  that 
"  blasted  wretch,"  as  Cotton  Mather  calls  him,  who  achieved  the  down- 
fall of  our  ancient  government,  and  was  followed  with  a  sensible  curse, 


402  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

through  life  and  to  his  grave.  On  the  other  side  was  Bullivant,  scat- 
tering jests  and  mockery  as  he  rode  along.  Dudley  came  behind,  with 
a  downcast  look,  dreading,  as  well  he  might,  to  meet  the  indignant 
gaze  of  the  people,  who  beheld  him,  their  only  countryman  by  birth, 
among  the  oppressors  of  his  native  land.  The  captain  of  a  frigate  in 
the  harbor,  and  two  or  three  civil  officers  under  the  Crown,  were  also 
there.  But  the  figure  which  most  attracted  the  public  eye,  and  stirred 
up  the  deepest  feeling,  was  the  Episcopal  clergyman  of  King's  Chapel, 
riding  haughtily  among  the  magistrates  in  his  priestly  vestments,  the 
fitting  representative  of  prelacy  and  persecution,  the  union  of  church 
and  state,  and  all  those  abominations  which  had  driven  the  Puritans 
to  the  wilderness.14  Another  guard  of  soldiers,  in  double  rank,  brought 
up  the  rear. 

The  whole  scene  was  a  picture  of  the  condition  of  New  England ; 
and  its  moral,  the  deformity  of  any  government  that  does  not  grow 
out  of  the  nature  of  things  and  the  character  of  the  people.  On  one 
side,  the  religious  multitude,  with  their  sad  visages  and  dark  attire ; 
and  on  the  other,  the  group  of  despotic  rulers,  with  the  high-churchman 
in  the  midst,  and  here  and  there  a  crucifix  at  their  bosoms,  all  magnifi- 
cently clad,  flushed  with  wine,  proud  of  unjust  authority,  and  scoffing 
at  the  universal  groan.  And  the  mercenary  soldiers,  waiting  but  the 
word  to  deluge  the  street  with  blood,  showed  the  only  means  by  which 
obedience  could  be  secured. 

"  O  Lord  of  Hosts,"  cried  a  voice  among  the  crowd,  "provide  a 
Champion  for  thy  people  !  " 

This  ejaculation  was  loudly  uttered,  and  served  as  a  herald's  cry,  to 
introduce  a  remarkable  personage.  The  crowd  had  rolled  back,  and 
were  now  huddled  together  nearly  at  the  extremity  of  the  street,  while 
the  soldiers  had  advanced  no  more  than  a  third  of  its  length.  The 
intervening  space  was  empty  —  a  paved  solitude,  between  lofty  edifices 
which  threw  almost  a  twilight  shadow  over  it.  Suddenly  there  was 
seen  the  figure  of  an  ancient  man,  who  seemed  to  have  emerged  from 
among  the  people,  and  was  walking  by  himself  along  the  centre  of  the 
street,  to  confront  the  armed  band.  He  wore  the  old  Puritan  dress,  a 
dark  cloak  and  a  steeple-crowned  hat,  in  the  fashion  of  at  least  fifty 
years  before,  with  a  heavy  sword  upon  his  thigh,  but  a  staff  in  his 
hand,  to  assist  the  tremulous  gait  of  age.'5 

When  at  some  distance  from  the  multitude,  the  old  man  turned 
slowly  round,  displaying  a  face  of  antique  majesty,  rendered  doubly 
venerable  by  the  hoary  beard  that  descended  on  his  breast.  He  made 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HAWTHORNE.  403 

a  gesture  at  once  of  encouragement  and  warning,  then  turned  again 
and  resumed  his  way. 

"  Who  is  this  gray  patriarch  ?  "  asked  the  young  men  of  their  sires. 

"Who  is  this  venerable  brother?"  asked  the  old  men  among 
themselves. 

But  none  could  make  reply.  The  fathers  of  the  people,  those  of 
fourscore  years  and  upwards,  were  disturbed,  deeming  it  strange  that 
they  should  forget  one  of  such  evident  authority,  whom  they  must 
have  known  in  their  early  days,  the  associate  of  Winthrop,'6  and  all 
the  old  Councillors,  giving  laws,  and  making  prayers,  and  leading 
them  against  the  savage.  The  elderly  men  ought  to  have  remembered 
him,  too,  with  locks  as  gray  in  their  youth  as  their  own  were  now. 
And  the  young!  How  could  he  have  passed  so  utterly  from  their 
memories  —  that  hoary  sire,  the  relic  of  long-departed  times,  whose 
awful  benediction  had  surely  been  bestowed  on  their  uncovered  heads 
in  childhood? 

"Whence  did  he  come?  What  is  his  purpose?  Who  can  this 
old  man  be?"  whispered  the  wondering  crowd. 

Meanyvhile,  the  venerable  stranger,  staff  in  hand,  was  pursuing  his 
solitary  walk  along  the  centre  of  the  street.  As  he  drew  near  the 
advancing  soldiers,  and  as  the  roll  of  their  drum  came  full  upon  his 
ear,  the  old  man  raised  himself  to  a  loftier  mien,  while  the  decrepitude 
of  age  seemed  to  fall  from  his  shoulders,  leaving  him  in  gray  but  un- 
broken dignity.  Now  he  marched  onward  with  a  warrior's  step,  keep- 
ing time  to  the  military  music.  Thus  the  aged  form  advanced  on  one 
side,  and  the  whole  parade  of  soldiers  and  magistrates  on  the  other, 
till,  when  scarcely  twenty  yards  remained  between,  the  old  man 
grasped  his  staff  by  the  middle,  and  held  it  before  him  like  a  leader's 
truncheon. 

"  Stand  !"  cried  he. 

The  eye,  the  face,  and  attitude  of  command  ;  the  solemn  yet  war- 
like peal  of  that  voice,  fit  either  to  rule  a  host  in  the  battle-field  or  be 
raised  to  God  in  prayer,  were  irresistible.  At  the  old  man's  word  and 
outstretched  arm,  the  roll  of  the  drum  was  hushed  at  once,  and  the 
advancing  line  stood  still.  A  tremulous  enthusiasm  seized  upon  the 
multitude.  That  stately  form,  combining  the  leader  and  the  saint,  so 
gray,  so  dimly  seen,  in  such  an  ancient  garb,  could  only  belong  to 
some  old  champion  of  the  righteous  cause,  whom  the  oppressor's  drum 
had  summoned  from  his  grave.  They  raised  a  shout  of  awe  and 
exultation,  and  looked  for  the  deliverance  of  New  England. 


404  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

The  Governor,  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  party,  perceiving  them- 
selves brought  to  an  unexpected  stand,  rode  hastily  forward,  as  if  they 
would  have  pressed  their  snorting  and  affrighted  horses  right  against  the 
hoary  apparition.  He,  however,  blenched  not  a  step,  but  glancing  his 
severe  eye  round  the  group,  which  half  encompassed  him,  at  last  bent 
it  sternly  on  Sir  Edmund  Andros.  One  would  have  thought  that  the 
dark  old  man  was  chief  ruler  there,  and  that  the  Governor  and  Coun- 
cil, with  soldiers  at  their  back,  representing  the  whole  power  and 
authority  of  the  Crown,  had  no  alternative  but  obedience. 

"What  does  this  old  fellow  here?"  cried  Edward  Randolph, 
fiercely.  "  On,  Sir  Edmund  !  Bid  the  soldiers  forward,  and  give  the 
dotard  the  same  choice  that  you  give  all  his  countrymen  —  to  stand 
aside  or  be  trampled  on  ! " 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  us  show  respect  to  the  good  grandsire,"  said  Bulli- 
vant,  laughing.  "  See  you  not,  he  is  some  old  round-headed  dignitary 
who  hath  lain  asleep  these  thirty  years  and  knows  nothing  of  the 
change  of  times?  Doubtless,  he  thinks  to  put  us  down  with  a  proc- 
lamation in  Old  Noll's  I?  name  ! " 

"Are  you  mad,  old  man?"  demanded  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  in 
loud  and  harsh  tones.  "  How  dare  you  stay  the  march  of  King 
James's  Governor?" 

"  I  have  staid  the  march  of  a  King  himself,  ere  now,"  replied  the 
gray  figure,  with  stern  composure. 

"  I  am  here,  Sir  Governor,  because  the  cry  of  an  oppressed  people 
hath  disturbed  me  in  my  secret  place ;  and  beseeching  this  favor  ear- 
nestly of  the  Lord,  it  was  vouchsafed  me  to  appear  once  again  on  earth, 
in  the  good  old  cause  of  his  saints.  And  what  speak  ye  of  James? 
There  is  no  longer  a  popish  tyrant  on  the  throne  of  England,  and  by 
to-morrow  noon  his  name  shall  be  a  by-word  in  this  very  street  where 
ye  would  make  it  a  word  of  terror.  Back,  thou  that  wast  a  Governor, 
back  !  With  this  night  thy  power  is  ended  —  to-morrow,  the  prison  ! 
—  back,  lest  I  foretell  the  scaffold  !  " 

The  people  had  been  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  and  drinking  in 
the  words  of  their  champion,  who  spoke  in  accents  long  disused,  like 
one  unaccustomed  to  converse,  except  with  the  dead  of  many  years 
ago.  But  his  voice  stirred  their  souls.  They  confronted  the  soldiers, 
not  wholly  without  arms,  and  ready  to  convert  the  very  stones  of  the 
street  into  deadly  weapons.  Sir  Edmund  Andros  looked  at  the  old 
man ;  then  he  cast  his  hard  and  cruel  eye  over  the  multitude,  and  be- 
held them  burning  with  that  lurid  wrath,  so  difficult  to  kindle  or  to 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HAWTHORNE.  405 

quench ;  and  again  he  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  aged  form,  which  stood 
obscurely  in  an  open  space,  where  neither  friend  nor  foe  had  thrust 
himself.  What  were  his  thoughts,  he  uttered  no  word  which  might 
discover.  But  whether  the  oppressor  were  overawed  by  the  Gray 
Champion's  look,  or  perceived  his  peril  in  the  threatening  attitude  of 
the  people,  it  is  certain  that  he  gave  back,  and  ordered  his  soldiers  to 
commence  a  slow  and  guarded  retreat.  Before  another  sunset,  the 
Governor,  and  all  that  rode  so  proudly  with  him,  were  prisoners,  and 
long  ere  it  was  known  that  James  had  abdicated,  King  William  was 
proclaimed  throughout  New  England. 

But  where  was  the  Gray  Champion?  Some  reported  that  when 
the  troops  had  gone  from  King-street  and  the  people  were  thronging 
tumultuously  in  their  rear,  Bradstreet,  the  aged  Governor,  was  seen  to 
embrace  a  form  more  aged  than  his  own.  Others  soberly  affirmed 
that  while  they  marvelled  at  the  venerable  grandeur  of  his  aspect,  the 
old  man  had  faded  from  their  eyes,  melting  slowly  into  the  hues  of 
twilight,  till,  where  he  stood,  there  was  an  empty  space.  But  all 
agreed  that  the  hoary  shape  was  gone.  The  men  of  that  generation 
watched  for  his  reappearance,  in  sunshine  and  in  twilight,  but  never 
saw  him  more,  nor  knew  when  his  funeral  passed,  nor  where  his 
gravestone  was. 

And  who  was  the  Gray  Champion?  Perhaps  his  name  might  be 
found  in  the  records  of  that  stern  Court  of  Justice  which  passed  a 
sentence  too  mighty  for  the  age,  but  glorious  in  all  after-times  for  its 
humbling  lesson  to  the  monarch  and  its  high  example  to  the  subject. 
I  have  heard  that  whenever  the  descendants  of  the  Puritans  are  to 
show  the  spirit  of  their  sires,  the  old  man  appears  again.  When 
eighty  years  had  passed,  he  walked  once  more  in  King-street.  Five 
years  later,  in  the  twilight  of  an  April  morning,  he  stood  on  the  green, 
beside  the  meeting-house,  at  Lexington,  where  now  the  obelisk  of 
granite,  with  a  slab  of  slate  inlaid,  commemorates  the  first  fallen  ot 
the  Revolution.  And  when  our  fathers  were  toiling  at  the  breastwork 
on  Bunker's  Hill,  all  through  that  night  the  old  warrior  walked  his 
rounds.  Long,  long  may  it  be  ere  he  comes  again !  His  hour  is  one 
of  darkness,  and  adversity,  and  peril.  But  should  domestic  tyranny 
oppress  us,  or  the  invader's  step  pollute  our  soil,  still  may  the  Gray 
Champion  come :  for  he  is  the  type  of  New  England's  hereditary 
spirit,18  and  his  shadowy  march,  on  the  eve  of  danger,  must  ever  be 
the  pledge  that  New  England's  sons  will  vindicate  their  ancestry. 


406  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


FANCY'S  SHOW-BOX. 

A    MORALITY. 

WHAT  is  Guilt  ?  A  stain  upon  the  soul.  And  it  is  a  point  of  vast 
interest,  whether  the  soul  may  contract  such  stains,  in  all  their  depth 
and  flagrancy,  from  deeds  which  may  have  been  plotted  and  resolved 
upon,  but  which,  physically,  have  never  had  existence.  Must  the 
fleshly  hand  and  visible  frame  of  man  set  its  seal  to  the  evil  designs 
of  the  soul,  in  order  to  give  them  their  entire  validity  against  the  sin- 
ner ?  Or,  while  none  but  crimes  perpetrated  are  cognizable  before  an 
earthly  tribunal,  will  guilty  thoughts  —  of  which  guilty  deeds  are  no 
more  than  shadows  —  will  these  draw  down  the  full  weight  of  a  con- 
demning sentence  in  the  supreme  court  of  eternity  ?  In  the  solitude 
of  a  midnight  chamber,  or  in  a  desert,  afar  from  men,  or  in  a  church, 
while  the  body  is  kneeling,  the  soul  may  pollute  itself  even  with  those 
crimes  which  we  are  accustomed  to  deem  altogether  carnal.  If  this 
be  true,  it  is  a  fearful  truth. 

Let  us  illustrate  the  subject  by  an  imaginary  example.  A  venerable 
gentleman,  one  Mr.  Smith,  who  had  long  been  regarded  as  a  pattern 
of  moral  excellence,  was  warming  his  aged  blood  with  a  glass  or  two 
of  generous  wine.  His  children  being  gone  forth  about  their  worldly 
business,  and  his  grandchildren  at  school,  he  sat  alone  in  a  deep,  lux- 
urious armchair  with  his  feet  beneath  a  richly  carved  mahogany  table. 
Some  old  people  have  a  dread  of  solitude,  and  when  better  company 
may  not  be  had,  rejoice  even  to  hear  the  quiet  breathing  of  a  babe, 
asleep  upon  the  carpet.  But  Mr.  Smith,  whose  silver  hair  was  the 
bright  symbol  of  a  life  unstained,  except  by  such  spots  as  are  insepara- 
ble from  human  nature,  had  no  need  of  a  babe  to  protect  him  by  its 
purity,  .nor  of  a  grown  person  to  stand  between  him  and  his  own  soul. 
Nevertheless,  either  Manhood  must  converse  with  Age,  or  Womanhood 
must  sooth  him  with  gentle  cares,  or  Infancy  must  sport  around  his 
chair,  or  his  thoughts  will  stray  into  the  misty  region  of  the  past,  and 
the  old  man  be  chill  and  sad.  Wine  will  not  always  cheer  him.  Such 
might  have  been  the  case  with  Mr.  Smith,  when,  through  the  brilliant 
medium  of  his  glass  of  old  Madeira,  he  beheld  three  figures  entering 
the  room.  These  were  Fancy,  who  had  assumed  the  garb  and  aspect 
of  an  itinerant  showman,  with  a  box  of  pictures  on  her  back ;  and 
Memory,  in  the  likeness  of  a  clerk,  with  a  pen  behind  her  ear,  an  ink- 
horn  at  her  buttonhole,  and  a  huge  manuscript  volume  beneath  her 


SELECTIONS  FltOM  HA  WTHORNE.  407 

arm-,  and  lastly,  behind  the  other  two,  a  person  shrouded  in  a  dusky 
mantle  which  concealed  both  face  and  form.  But  Mr.  Smith  had  a 
shrewd  idea  that  it  was  Conscience. 

How  kind  of  Fancy,  Memory,  and  Conscience  to  visit  the  old  gen- 
tleman, just  as  he  was  beginning  to  imagine  that  the  wine  had  neither 
so  bright  a  sparkle  nor  so  excellent  a  flavor  as  when  himself  and  the 
liquor  were  less  aged !  Through  the  dim  length  of  the  apartment, 
where  crimson  curtains  muffled  the  glare  of  sunshine  and  created  a  rich 
obscurity,  the  three  guests  drew  near  the  silver-haired  old  man.  Mem- 
ory, with  a  finger  between  the  leaves  of  her  huge  volume,  placed  her- 
self at  his  right  hand.  Conscience,  with  her  face  still  hidden  in  the 
dusky  mantle,  took  her  station  on  the  left,  so  as  to  be  next  his  heart ; 
while  Fancy  set  down  her  picture-box  upon  the  table,  with  the  magni- 
fying-glass  convenient  to  his  eye.  We  can  sketch  merely  the  outlines 
of  two  or  three  out  of  the  many  pictures  which,  at  the  pulling  of  a 
string,  successively  peopled  the  box  with  the  semblances  of  living 
scenes. 

One  was  a  moonlight  picture  ;  in  the  background,  a  lowly  dwelling ; 
and  in  front,  partly  shadowed  by  a  tree,  yet  besprinkled  with  flakes  of 
radiance,  two  youthful  figures,  male  and  female.  The  young  man  stood 
with  folded  arms,  a  haughty  smile  upon  his  lip,  and  a  gleam  of  triumph 
in  his  eye,  as  he  glanced  downward  at  the  kneeling  girl.  She  was 
almost  prostrate  at  his  feet,  evidently  sinking  under  a  weight  of  shame 
and  anguish,  which  hardly  allowed  her  to  lift  her  clasped  hands  in  sup- 
plication. Her  eyes  she  could  not  lift.  But  neither  her  agony,  nor 
the  lovely  features  on  which  it  was  depicted,  nor  the  slender  grace  of 
the  form  which  it  convulsed,  appeared  to  soften  the  obduracy  of  the 
young  man.  He  was  the  personification  of  triumphant  scorn.  Now, 
strange  to  say,  as  old  Mr.  Smith  peeped  through  the  magnifying-glass, 
which  made  the  objects  start  out  from  the  canvas  with  magical  decep- 
tion, he  began  to  recognize  the  farm-house,  the  tree,  and  both  the 
figures  of  the  picture.  The  young  man,  in  times  long  past,  had  often 
met  his  gaze  within  the  looking-glass ;  the  girl  was  the  very  image  of 
his  first  love  —  his  cottage-love  —  his  Martha  Burroughs!  Mr.  Smith 
was  scandalized.  "Oh,  vile  and  slanderous  picture!"  he  exclaims. 
"  When  have  I  triumphed  over  ruined  innocence  ?  Was  not  Martha 
wedded  in  her  teens  to  David  Tompkins,  who  won  her  girlish  love, 
and  long  enjoyed  her  affection  as  a  wife  ?  And  ever  since  his  death, 
she  has  lived  a  reputable  widow!"  Meantime,  Memory  was  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  her  volume,  rustling  them  to  and  fro  with  uncertain 


40&  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

fingers,  until,  among  the  earlier  pages,  she  found  one  which  had  refer- 
ence to  this  picture.  She  reads  it,  close  to  the  old  gentleman's  ear; 
it  is  a  record  merely  of  sinful  thought,  which  never  was  embodied  in 
an  act;  but,  while  Memory  is  reading,  Conscience  unveils  her  face, 
and  strikes  a  dagger  to  the  heart  of  Mr.  Smith.  Though  not  a  death- 
blow, the  torture  was  extreme. 

The  exhibition  proceeded.  One  after  another,  Fancy  displayed 
her  pictures,  all  of  which  appeared  to  have  been  painted  by  some  mali- 
cious artist,  on  purpose  to  vex  Mr.  Smith.  Not  a  shadow  of  proof 
could  have  been  adduced,  in  any  earthly  court,  that  he  was  guilty  of 
the  slightest  of  those  sins  which  were  thus  made  to  stare  him  in  the 
face.  In  one  scene,  there  was  a  table  set  out,  with  several  bottles, 
and  glasses  half  filled  with  wine,  which  threw  back  the  dull  ray  of  an 
expiring  lamp.  There  had  been  mirth  and  revelry,  until  the  hand  of 
the  clock  stood  just  at  midnight,  when  Murder  stepped  between  the 
boon  companions.  A  young  man  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and  lay  stone 
dead,  with  a  ghastly  wound  crushed  into  his  temple,  while  over  him, 
with  a  delirium  of  mingled  rage  and  horror  in  his  countenance,  stood 
the  youthful  likeness  of  Mr.  Smith.  The  murdered  youth  wore  the 
features  of  Edward  Spencer!  "What  does  this  rascal  of  a  painter 
mean  ?"  cries  Mr.  Smith,  provoked  beyond  all  patience.  "Edward 
Spencer  was  my  earliest  and  dearest  friend,  true  to  me  as  I  to  him, 
through  more  than  half  a  century.  Neither  I,  nor  any  other,  ever 
murdered  him.  Was  he  not  alive  within  five  years,  and  did  he  not, 
in  token  of  our  long  friendship,  bequeath  me  his  gold-headed  cane, 
and  a  mourning  ring  ?  "  Again  had  Memory  been  turning  over  her 
volume,  and  fixed  at  length  upon  so  confused  a  page,  that  she  surely 
must  have  scribbled  it  when  she  was  tipsy.  The  purport  was,  however, 
that,  while  Mr.  Smith  and  Edward  Spencer  were  heating  their  young 
blood  with  wine,  a  quarrel  had  flashed  up  between  them,  and  Mr. 
Smith,  in  deadly  wrath,  had  flung  a  bottle  at  Spencer's  head.  True, 
it  missed  its  aim,  and  merely  smashed  a  looking-glass ;  and  the  next 
morning,  when  the  incident  was  imperfectly  remembered,  they  had 
shaken  hands  with  a  hearty  laugh.  Yet,  again,  while  Memory  was 
reading,  Conscience  unveiled  her  face,  struck  a  dagger  to  the  heart  of 
Mr.  Smith,  and  quelled  his  remonstrance  with  her  iron  frown.  The 
pain  was  quite  excruciating. 

Some  of  the  pictures  had  been  painted  with  so  doubtful  a  touch, 
and  in  colors  so  faint  and  pale,  that  the  subjects  could  barely  be  con- 
jectured. A  dull,  semi-transparent  mist  had  been  thrown  over  the 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HAWTHORNE.  409 

surface  of  the  canvas,  into  which  the  figures  seemed  to  vanish,  while 
the  eye  sought  most  earnestly  to  fix  them.  But  in  every  scene,  how- 
ever dubiously  portrayed,  Mr.  Smith  was  invariably  haunted  by  his 
own  lineaments,  at  various  ages,  as  in  a  dusty  mirror.  After  poring 
several  minutes  over  one  of  these  blurred  and  almost  indistinguishable 
pictures,  he  began  to  see  that  the  painter  had  intended  to  represent 
him,  now  in  the  decline  of  life,  as  stripping  the  clothes  from  the  backs 
of  three  half-starved  children.  "  Really,  this  puzzles  me!"  quoth  Mr. 
Smith,  with  the  irony  of  conscious  rectitude.  "  Asking  pardon  of  the 
painter,  I  pronounce  him  a  fool,  as  well  as  a  scandalous  knave.  A 
man  of  my  standing  in  the  world,  to  be  robbing  little  children  of  their 
clothes!  Ridiculous!"  But  while  he  spoke,  Memory  had  searched 
her  fatal  volume,  and  found  a  page,  which,  with  her  sad,  calm  voice, 
she  poured  into  his  ear.  It  was  not  altogether  inapplicable  to  the 
misty  scene.  It  told  how  Mr.  Smith  had  been  grievously  tempted,  by 
many  devilish  sophistries,  on  the  ground  of  a  legal  quibble,  to  com- 
mence a  lawsuit  against  three  orphan  children,  joint  heirs  to  a  consid- 
erable estate.  Fortunately,  before  he  was  quite  decided,  his  claims 
had  turned  out  nearly  as  devoid  of  law  as  of  justice.  As  Memory 
ceased  to  read,  Conscience  again  thrust  aside  her  mantle,  and  would 
have  struck  her  victim  with  the  envenomed  dagger,  only  that  he  strug- 
gled, and  clasped  his  hands  before  his  heart.  Even  then,  however, 
he  sustained  an  ugly  gash. 

Why  should  we  follow  Fancy  through  the  whole  series  of  those 
awful  pictures?  Painted  by  an  artist  of  wondrous  power,  and  terrible 
acquaintance  with  the  secret  soul,  they  embodied  the  ghosts  of  all  the 
never-perpetrated  sins  that  had  glided  through  the  lifetime  of  Mr. 
Smith.  And  could  such  beings  of  cloudy  fantasy,  so  near  akin  to 
nothingness,  give  valid  evidence  against  him,  at  the  day  of  judgment? 
Be  that  the  case  or  not,  there  is  reason  to  believe,  that  one  truly 
penitential  tear  would  have  washed  away  each  hateful  picture,  and  left 
the  canvas  white  as  snow.  But  Mr.  Smith,  at  a  prick  of  Conscience 
too  keen  to  be  endured,  bellowed  aloud,  with  impatient  agony,  and 
suddenly  discovered  that  his  three  guests  were  gone.  There  he  sat 
alone,  a  silver-haired  and  highly  venerated  old  man,  in  the  rich  gloom 
of  the  crimson-curtained  room,  with  no  box  of  pictures  on  the  table, 
but  only  a  decanter  of  most  excellent  Madeira.  Yet  his  heart  still 
seemed  to  fester  with  the  venom  of  the  dagger. 

Nevertheless,  the  unfortunate  old  gentleman  might  have  argued 
the  matter  with  Conscience,  and  alleged  many  reasons  wherefore  she 


4IO  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

should  not  smite  him  so  pitilessly.  Were  we  to  take  up  his  cause,  it 
should  be  somewhat  in  the  following  fashion.  A  scheme  of  guilt,  till 
it  be  put  in  execution,  greatly  resembles  a  train  of  incidents  in  a  pro- 
jected tale.  The  latter,  in  order  to  produce  a  sense  of  reality  in  the 
reader's  mind,  must  be  conceived  with  such  proportionate  strength  by 
the  author  as  to  seem,  in  the  glow  of  fancy,  more  like  truth,  past, 
present,  or  to  come,  than  purely  fiction.  The  prospective  sinner,  on 
the  other  hand,  weaves  his  plot  of  crime,  but  seldom  or  never  feels  a 
perfect  certainty  that  it  will  be  executed.  There  is  a  dreaminess  dif- 
fused about  his  thoughts ;  in  a  dream,  as  it  were,  he  strikes  the  death- 
blow into  his  victim's  heart,  and  starts  to  find  an  indelible  blood  stain 
on  his  hand.  Thus  a  novel-writer,  or  a  dramatist,  in  creating  a  villain 
of  romance,  and  fitting  him  with  evil  deeds,  and  the  villain  of  actual 
life,  in  projecting  crimes  that  will  be  perpetrated,  may  almost  meet 
each  other  half-way  between  reality  and  fancy.  It  is  not  until  the 
crime  is  accomplished  that  guilt  clenches  its  gripe  upon  the  guilty 
heart  and  claims  it  for  its  own.  Then,  and  not  before,  sin  is  actually 
felt  and  acknowledged,  and,  if  unaccompanied  by  repentance,  grows  a 
thousandfold  more  virulent  by  its  self-consciousness.  Be  it  consid- 
ered, also,  that  men  often  overestimate  their  capacity  for  evil.  At  a 
distance,  while  its  attendant  circumstances  do  not  press  upon  their 
notice,  and  its  results  are  dimly  seen,  they  can  bear  to  contemplate  it. 
They  may  take  the  steps  which  lead  to  crime,  impelled  by  the  same 
sort  of  mental  action  as  in  working  out  a  mathematical  problem,  yet 
be  powerless  with  compunction  at  the  final  moment.  They  knew  not 
what  deed  it  was  that  they  deemed  themselves  resolved  to  do.  In 
truth,  there  is  no  such  thing  in  man's  nature  as  a  settled  and  full  re- 
solve, either  for  good  or  evil,  except  at  the  very  moment  of  execution. 
Let  us  hope,  therefore,  that  all  the  dreadful  consequences  of  sin  will 
not  be  incurred  unless  the  act  have  set  its  seal  upon  the  thought. 

Yet,  with  the  slight  fancy-work  which  we  have  framed,  some  sad 
and  awful  truths  are  interwoven.  Man  must  not  disclaim  his  brother- 
hood, even  with  the  guiltiest,  since,  though  his  hand  be  clean,  his 
heart  has  surely  been  polluted  by  the  flitting  phantoms  of  iniquity. 
He  must  feel  that  when  he  shall  knock  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  no  sem- 
blance of  an  unspotted  life  can  entitle  him  to  entrance  there.  Peni- 
tence must  kneel,  and  Mercy  come  from  the  footstool  of  the  throne, 
or  that  golden  gate  will  never  open! 


NOTES   TO  HAWTHORNE.  411 


NOTES  TO   HAWTHORNE. 
THE  GRAY  CHAMPION. 

THIS  and  the  following  selection  are  taken  from  the  first  series  of  "  Twice- 
Told  Tales,"  published  in  1837.  The  first  story  illustrates  Hawthorne's  fond- 
ness for  New  England  themes,  and  his  imaginative  method  of  treating  them ; 
the  second,  his  sense  of  human  sin,  and  his  manner  of  probing  the  heart. 
In  both  will  be  found  his  peculiar  grace  of  style. 

Of  the  "Twice-Told  Tales"  Hawthorne  says,  in  a  bit  of  self-criticism: 
"They  have  the  pale  tint  of  flowers  that  blossomed  in  too  retired  a  shade,  — 
the  coolness  of  a  meditative  habit,  which  diffuses  itself  through  the  feeling 
and  observation  of  every  sketch.  Instead  of  passion,  there  is  sentiment ; 
and,  even  in  what  purport  to  be  pictures  of  actual  life,  we  have  allegory,  not 
always  so  warmly  dressed  in  its  habiliments  of  flesh  and  blood,  as  to  be  taken 
into  the  reader's  mind  without  a  shiver." 

1.  This  was  done  in  1686. 

2.  The  colonists  gave  vent  to  their  feelings  by  calling  him  "  the  tyrant 
of  New  England."     For  further  illustrations  of  this  paragraph,  consult  a  good 
history. 

3.  The  Prince  of  Orange,  upon  the  invitation  of  a  number  of  English 
statesmen,  entered  England  with  an  army,  and  succeeded  in  dethroning  James 
I.     This  movement  is  known  in  history  as  the  Revolution  of  1688. 

4.  This  appearance  seems  to  be  an  invention  of  Hawthorne's,  in  order 
to  furnish  occasion  for  the  incidents  that  follow. 

5.  A  reference,  of  course,  to  the  "  Boston  Massacre,"  which  took  place 
March  5,  1770.     "  King-street  "  is  now  called  State  Street. 

6.  This  refers  to  the  Civil  War  in  England,  a  struggle  between  the  Par- 
liament and  Charles  I.  (1642-1646),  which  resulted  in  the  beheading  of  the 
king,  Jan.  30,  1649. 

7.  This  war  between  the  colonists  and  the  confederated  Indians  (1675- 
1676)  was  carried  on  with  great  fierceness  and  determination  on  both  sides. 

8.  Smithfield  was  a  locality  in  London,  where  a  number  of  Puritans 
suffered  martyrdom. 

9.  John  Rogers  was  burned  at  Smithfield  in  1555,  the  first  martyr  under 
the  reign  of  "Bloody  Mary."     In  1537,  under  the  name  of  John  Matthew, 
he  published  "  Matthew's  Bible,"  a  compilation  from  Coverdale's  and  Tyn- 
dale's  versions. 


412  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

10.  This  was  the  "New  England  Primer,"   which  for  a  century  and  a 
half  was  the  first  book  in  religion  and  morals  as  well  as  in  learning  and 
literature. 

1 1 .  For  an  account  of  the  massacre  of  Protestants  in  Paris  on  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's Day,  Aug.  24,  1572,  consult  a  good  encyclopaedia. 

12.  Simon  Bradstreet  was  governor  of  Massachusetts  in  1679-1686,  and 
again  in  1689-1692. 

13.  The  matchlocks  were  fired  by  means  of  slow-burning  match-cords, 
which  were  lighted  at  one  or  both  ends  when  carried  into  action. 

14.  To  hold  an  Anglican  service,  Andros  forcibly  took  possession  of  the 
Old  South  Meeting-house.    This  will  explain  the  bitter  feeling  of  the  people. 

15.  According  to  an  old  tradition,  when  the  town  of  Hadley  was  attacked 
in  King  Philip's  War,  and  the  settlers  were  irresolute  for  want  of  a  leader, 
"  a  venerable  man,  unknown  to  all,  appeared  suddenly  in  the  streets,  took 
command  of  the  people,  gave  military  orders  that  led  to  the  defeat  of  the  In- 
dians, and  then  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  he  came.     It  was  afterwards  sup- 
posed that  this  mysterious  person  was  William  Goffe,  who  had  been  a  general 
in  Cromwell's  army,  and  had  been  compelled  to  flee  from  England  as  a  '  regi- 
cide '  for  having  been  one  of  the  judges  who  sentenced  Charles  I.  to  death." 
It  was  this  mysterious  appearance  that  Hawthorne  here  makes  use  of,  chan- 
ging the  time  and  place  of  the  event. 

1 6.  John  Winthrop  landed  in  Massachusetts  in  1630,  and  served  repeat- 
edly as  colonial  governor. 

17.  "  Old  Noll  "  was  a  nickname  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

18.  It  is  characteristic  of  Hawthorne's  genius,  thus  to  make  the  Gray 
Champion  symbolize  New  England  independence  and  courage.     This  single 
stroke  gives  a  deeper  meaning  to  the  entire  story. 

FANCY'S  Snow-Box. 

This  story,  as  we  learn  from  Julian  Hawthorne's  excellent  biography  of 
his  father,  possesses  a  peculiar  personal  interest.  It  was  suggested  by  a  bitter 
experience.  Hawthorne  had  been  ensnared  in  the  toils  of  a  false  and  mali- 
cious woman,  by  whom  he  was  induced  to  believe  that  a  friend  of  his  had 
grossly  insulted  her.  In  his  sudden  burst  of  indignation,  Hawthorne  sent  him 
a  challenge.  Fortunately,  the  friend  in  question  was  acquainted  with  the 
dangerous  character  of  the  woman  ;  and  after  fully  vindicating  his  innocence, 
and  convincing  Hawthorne  of  her  perfidy,  he  generously  demanded  a  renewal 
of  their  friendship.  This,  of  course,  was  as  generously  granted. 

Unfortunately,  this  was  not  the  end  of  the  matter.  Shortly  afterwards 
another  friend  of  Hawthorne's,  Cilley  by  name,  received  a  challenge,  which 
he  was  not  bound  by  the  so-called  "code  of  honor"  to  accept.  But  while 


NOTES   TO  HAWTHORNE.  413 

he  was  hesitating,  some  one  said  to  him,  "  If  Hawthorne  was  so  ready  to 
fight  a  duel  without  stopping  to  ask  questions,  you  certainly  need  not  hesi- 
tate." Hawthorne  was  considered  a  model  of  honorable  and  manly  conduct, 
and  this  argument  was  decisive.  Cilley  accepted  the  challenge,  met  his  antag- 
onist, and  was  killed. 

When  Hawthorne  learned  these  facts,  he  was  smitten  with  remorse. 
He  saw  that  it  was  Cilley's  high  esteem  for  him  that  led  to  his  fatal  decision. 
"  Had  I  not  sought  to  take  the  life  of  my  friend,"  was  the  burden  of  his 
meditation,  "this  other  friend  would  still  be  alive."  And  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  almost  as  much  responsible  for  his  friend's  death  as  the  man  that  shot 
him. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  "  Fancy's  Show-Box  "  was  written. 
"  In  it  the  question  is  discussed,  whether  the  soul  may  contract  the  stains  of 
guilt,  in  all  their  depth  and  flagrancy,  from  deeds  which  may  have  been 
plotted  and  resolved  upon,  but  which  physically  have  never  had  an  existence. 
The  conclusion  is  reached,  that  '  it  is  not  until  the  crime  is  accomplished  that 
guilt  clinches  its  gripe  upon  the  guilty  heart  and  claims  it  for  its  own.  .  .  . 
There  is  no  such  thing,  in  man's  nature,  as  a  settled  and  full  resolve,  either 
for  good  or  evil,  except  at  the  very  moment  of  execution.'  Nevertheless, 
'  man  must  not  disclaim  his  brotherhood  with  the  guiltiest;  since,  though  his 
hand  be  clean,  his  heart  has  surely  been  polluted  by  the  flitting  phantoms  of 
iniquity.  He  must  feel  that,  when  he  shall  knock  at  the  gate  of  Heaven,  no 
semblance  of  an  unspotted  life  can  entitle  him  to  entrance  there.  Penitence 
must  kneel,  and  Mercy  come  from  the  footstool  of  the  throne,  or  that  golden 
gate  will  never  open ! '  Those  who  wish  to  obtain  more  than  a  superficial 
glimpse  into  Hawthorne's  heart  cannot  do  better  than  to  ponder  every  part  of 
this  little  story." 


4H  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


XIII. 

SELECTIONS   FROM   LONGFELLOW. 
A   PSALM   OF   LIFE. 

TELL  me  not  in  mournful  numbers. 
Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  !  - 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem 


i/. 


Life  is  real !  Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Finds  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 
Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 

Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle ! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife  ! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead ! 
Act,  —  act  in  the  living  Present  I 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead! 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  415 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 

Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time ; 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 

Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 
"'A.  (M^  Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS. 

WHEN  the  hours  of  day  are  numbered, 
And  the  voices  of  the  night 

Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 
And  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  firelight 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall ; 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more ; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 
"*"*'  Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life ! 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore, 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more ! 


416  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

s  And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 

Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 
More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 

Oh,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 
All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 

If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died. 


THE   SKELETON   IN   ARMOR. 

"  SPEAK  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest ! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 
Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 

Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ?  " 

Then  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise, 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 
Gleam  in  December; 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  417 

And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 

"  I  was  a  Viking  old ! 

My  deeds,  though  manifold, 
No  Skald  '  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga2  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse  ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

"  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, 
I,  with  my  childish  hand, 

Tamed  the  gerfalcon ; 

And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound, 

Skimmed  the  half-frozen  Sound,3 

That  the  poor  whimpering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 

"  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 
While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow  ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were-wolf's  4  bark, 
Until  the  soaring  lark 

Sang  from  the  meadow. 

"  But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 

With  the  marauders. 
Wild  was  the  life  we  led  ; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled, 
By  our  stern  orders. 


4 1 8  A  ME  RICA  N  LITER  A  TURE. 

"  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  Winter  out ; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 

Set  the  cocks  crowing, 
As  we  the  Berserk's  5  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  the  oaken  pail, 

Filled  to  overflowing. 

"  Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 
Burning  yet  tender; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

"  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid, 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast, 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 
By  the  hawk  frighted. 

"  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chanting  his  glory ; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand  6 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

"  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed, 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed, 
And  as  the  wind-gusts  waft 
The  sea-foam  brightly, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  419 

So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 
Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

"  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 
And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded  ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded? 

"  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me, 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen ! 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand, 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 

With  twenty  horsemen. 

"  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast, 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast, 

When  the  wind  failed  us ; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw,7 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

"  And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
4  Death  ! '  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

'  Death  without  quarter ! ' 
Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water ! 


42O  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  As  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

With  his  prey  laden,  — 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 
Bore  I  the  maiden. 

"  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bovver 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

"  There  lived  we  many  years  ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears ; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears, 
She  was  a  mother ; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes, 
Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
On  such  another ! 

"  Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen  ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful ! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

Oh,  death  was  grateful ! 

"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars, 
Bursting  these  prison  bars, 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended  ! 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  421 

There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Skoal  1 8    to  the  Northland  !  skoal!  " 
Thus  the  tale  ended. 


THE  ARSENAL  AT  SPRINGFIELD. 

THIS  is  the  Arsenal.     From  floor  to  ceiling, 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnished  arms ; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villages  with  strange  alarms. 

Ah  !  what  a  sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary, 
When  the  death-angel  touches  those  swift  keys  ! 

What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere  r 

Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies  ! 

I  hear  even  now  the  infinite  fierce  chorus, 

The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan, 
Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us, 

In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

-i  /wJT~ 
On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer,2 

Through  Cimbric 3  forest  roars  the  Norseman's  song, 
And  loud-  amid  the  universal  clamor, 

O'er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

1  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 

Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful  din, 

And  Aztec  priests  upon  their  teocallis  4 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent's  skin ; 

The  tumult  of  each  sacked  and  burning  village  ; 

The  shout  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns ; 
The  soldier's  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage ; 
The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns ; 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched  asunder, 
The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade  ; 

And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder 
The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 


422  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Is  it,  O  man,  with  such  discordant  noises, 
With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 

Thou  drownest  Nature's  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 
And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies  ? 

Were  half  the  power  that  fills  the  world  with  terror, 

Were  half  the  wealth  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts, 

Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error, 
There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  and  forts : 

The  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  abhorred! 

And  every  nation,  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a  brother,  on  its  forehead 

Would  wear  forevermore  the  curse  of  Cain ! s 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then  cease ; 

And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  "  Peace  !"6 

Peace  !  and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 

The  blast  of  War's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies ! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals, 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise. 


THE   BUILDING   OF  THE   SHIP. 

;  BUILD  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master ! ' 
Stanch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster, 
And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle ! " 

The  merchant's  word 

Delighted  the  Master  heard  ; 

For  his  heart  was  in  his  work,  and  the  heart 

Giveth  grace  unto  every  Art. 

A  quiet  smile  played  round  his  lips, 

As  the  eddies  and  dimples  of  the  tide 

Play  round  the  bows  of  ships, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  423 

That  steadily  at  anchor  ride. 

And  with  a  voice  that  was  full  of  glee, 

He  answered,  "  Ere  long  we  will  launch 

A  vessel  as  goodly,  and  strong,  and  stanch, 

As  ever  weathered  a  wintry  sea  ! " 

And  first  with  nicest  skill  and  art, 

Perfect  and  finished  in  every  part, 

A  little  model  the  Master  wrought, 

Which  should  be  to  the  larger  plan 

What  the  child  is  to  the  man, 

Its  counterpart  in  miniature  ; 

That  with  a  hand  more  swift  and  sure 

The  greater  labor  might  be  brought 

To  answer  to  his  inward  thought. 

And  as  he  labored,  his  mind  ran  o'er 

The  various  ships  that  were  built  of  yore ; 

And  above  them  all,  and  strangest  of  all, 

Towered  the  Great  Harry,2  crank  3  and  tall, 

Whose  picture  was  hanging  on  the  wall, 

With  bows  and  stern  raised  high  in  air, 

And  balconies  hanging  here  and  there, 

And  signal  lanterns  and  flags  afloat, 

And  eight  round  towers,  like  those  that  frown 

From  some  old  castle,  looking  down 

Upon  the  drawbridge  and  the  moat. 

And  he  said  with  a  smile,   "  Our  ship,  I  wis, 

Shall  be  of  another  form  than  this  ! " 

It  was  of  another  form,  indeed  ; 

Built  for  freight,  and  yet  for  speed, 

A  beautiful  and  gallant  craft ; 

Broad  in  the  beam,  that  the  stress  of  the  blast, 

Pressing  down  upon  sail  and  mast, 

Might  not  the  sharp  bows  overwhelm ; 

Broad  in  the  beam,  but  sloping  aft 

With  graceful  curve  and  slow  degrees, 

That  she  might  be  docile  to  the  helm, 

And  that  the  currents  of  parted  seas, 

Closing  behind,  with  mighty  force, 

Might  aid  and  not  impede  her  course. 


424  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

In  the  ship-yard  stood  the  Master, 
With  the  model  of  the  vessel, 
That  should  laugh  at  all  disaster, 
And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle ! 

Covering  many  a  rood  of  ground, 

Lay  the  timber  piled  around  ; 

Timber  of  chestnut,  and  elm,  and  oak, 

And  scattered  here  and  there,  with  these, 

The  knarred  4  and  crooked  cedar  knees  ; 

Brought  from  regions  far  away, 

From  Pascagoula's  5  sunny  bay, 

And  the  banks  of  the  roaring  Roanoke!6 

Ah  !  what  a  wondrous  thing  it  is 

To  note  how  many  wheels  of  toil 

One  thought,  one  word,  can  set  in  motion  ! 

There's  not  a  ship  that  sails  the  ocean, 

But  every  climate,  every  soil, 

Must  bring  its  tribute,  great  or  small, 

And  help  to  build  the  wooden  wall ! 

The  sun  was  rising  o'er  the  sea, 
And  long  the  level  shadows  lay, 
As  if  they,  too,  the  beams  would  be 
Of  some  great  airy  argosy, 
Framed  and  launched  in  a  single  day. 
That  silent  architect,  the  sun, 
Had  hewn  and  laid  them  every  one, 
Ere  the  work  of  man  was  yet  begun. 
Beside  the  Master,  when  he  spoke, 
A  youth,  against  an  anchor  leaning, 
Listened,  to  catch  his  slightest  meaning. 
Only  the  long  waves,  as  they  broke 
In  ripples  on  the  pebbly  beach, 
Interrupted  the  old  man's  speech. 

Beautiful  they  were,  in  sooth, 
The  old  man  and  the  fiery  youth ! 
The  old  man,  in  whose  busy  brain 
Many  a  ship  that  sailed  the  main 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  42$ 

Was  modelled  o'er  and  o'er  again  ;  — 

The  fiery  youth,  who  was  to  be 

The  heir  of  his  dexterity, 

The  heir  of  his  house,  and  his  daughter's  hand, 

When  he  had  built  and  launched  from  land 

What  the  elder  head  had  planned. 

'  Thus,"  said  he,  "  will  we  build  this  ship  ! 
Lay  square  the  blocks  upon  the  slip,7 
And  follow  well  this  plan  of  mine. 
Choose  the  timbers  with  greatest  care ; 
Of  all  that  is  unsound  beware ; 
For  only  what  is  sound  and  strong 
To  this  vessel  shall  belong. 
Cedar  of  Maine  and  Georgia  pine 
Here  together  shall  combine. 
A  goodly  frame,  and  a  goodly  fame, 
And  the  UNION  be  her  name  ! 
For  the  day  that  gives  her  to  the  sea 
Shall  give  my  daughter  unto  thee !  " 

The  Master's  word 

Enraptured  the  young  man  heard ; 

And  as  he  turned  his  face  aside, 

With  a  look  of  joy  and  a  thrill  of  pride, 

Standing  before 

Her  father's  door, 

He  saw  the  form  of  his  promised  bride. 

The  sun  shone  on  her  golden  hair,  / 

And  her  cheek  was  glowing  fresh  and  fair, 

With  the  breath  of  morn  and  the  soft  sea  air. 

Like  a  beauteous  barge  was  she, 

Still  at  rest  on  the  sandy  beach, 

Just  beyond  the  billow's  reach ; 

But  he 

Was  the  restless,  seething,  stormy  sea! 

Ah,  how  skilful  grows  the  hand 

That  obeyeth  Love's  command  ! 

It  is  the  heart,  and  not  the  brain, 

That  to  the  highest  doth  attain, 


426  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

And  lie  who  followeth  Love's  behest 
Far  excelleth  all  the  rest ! 

f^Thus  with  the  rising  of  the  sun^ 
Was  the  noble  task  begun, 
And  soon  throughout  the  ship-yard's  bounds 
Were  heard  the  intermingled  sounds 
Of  axes  and  of  mallets,  plied 
With  vigorous  arms  on  every  side ; 
Plied  so  deftly  and  so  well, 
That,  ere  the  shadows  of  evening  fell, 
The  keel 8  of  oak  for  a  noble  ship, 
Was  lying  ready,  and  stretched  along 
The  blocks,  well  placed  upon  the  slip. 
Happy,  thrice  happy,  every  one 
Who  sees  his  labor  well  begun, 
And  not  perplexed  and  multiplied, 
By  idly  waiting  for  time  and  tide  ! 

And  when  the  hot,  long  day  was  o'er, 

The  young  man  at  the  Master's  door 

Sat  with  the  maiden  calm  and  still, 

And  within  the  porch,  a  little  more 

Removed  beyond  the  evening  chill, 

The  father  sat,  and  told  them  tales 

Of  wrecks  in  the  great  September  gales, 

Of  pirates  coasting  the  Spanish  Main, 

And  ships  that  never  came  back  again, 

The  chance  and  change  of  a  sailor's  life, 

Want  and  plenty,  rest  and  strife, 

His  roving  fancy,  like  the  wind, 

That  nothing  can  stay  and  nothing  can  bind, 

And  the  magic  charm  of  foreign  lands, 

With  shadows  of  palms,  and  shining  sands, 

Where  the  tumbling  surf, 

O'er  the  coral  reefs  of  Madagascar, 

Washes  the  feet  of  the  swarthy  Lascar,9 

As  he  lies  alone  and  asleep  on  the  turf. 

And  the  trembling  maiden  held  her  breath 

At  the  tales  of  that  awful,  pitiless  sea, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  427 

With  all  its  terror  and  mystery, 

The  dim,  dark  sea,  so  like  unto  Death, 

That  divides  and  yet  unites  mankind  ! 

And  whenever  the  old  man  paused,  a  gleam 

From  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  would  awhile  illume 

The  silent  group  in  the  twilight  gloom, 

And  thoughtful  faces,  as  in  a  dream ; 

And  for  a  moment  one  might  mark 

What  had  been  hidden  by  the  dark, 

That  the  head  of  the  maiden  lay  at  rest, 

Tenderly,  on  the  young  man's  breast ! 

Day  by  day  the  vessel  grew, 

With  timbers  fashioned  strong  and  true, 

Stemson I0  and  keelson  and  sternson-knee, 

Till,  framed  with  perfect  symmetry, 

A  skeleton  ship  rose  up  to  view  ! 

And  around  the  bows  and  along  the  side 

The  heavy  hammers  and  mallets  plied, 

Till  after  many  a  week,  at  length, 

Wonderful  for  form  and  strength, 

Sublime  in  its  enormous  bulk, 

Loomed  aloft  the  shadowy  hulk  ! 

And  around  it  columns  of  smoke,  upwreathing, 

Rose  from  the  boiling,  bubbling,  seething 

Caldron,  that  glowed, 

And  overflowed 

With  the  black  tar,  heated  for  the  sheathing. 

And  amid  the  clamors 

Of  clattering  hammers, 

He  who  listened  heard  now  and  then 

The  song  of  the  Master  and  his  men :  — 

Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master, 
Stanch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster, 
And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle ! " 

With  oaken  brace  and  copper  band, 
Lay  the  rudder  on  the  s^nd, 


428  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

That,  like  a  thought,  should  have  control 

Over  the  movement  of  the  whole  ; 

And  near  it  the  anchor,  whose  giant  hand, 

Would  reach  down  and  grapple  with  the  land, 

And  immovable  and  fast 

Hold  the  great  ship  against  the  bellowing  blast ! 

And  at  the  bows  an  image  stood, 

By  a  cunning  artist  carved  in  wood, 

With  robes  of  white,  that  far  behind 

Seemed  to  be  fluttering  in  the  wind. 

It  was  not  shaped  in  a  classic  mould, 

Not  like  a  Nymph  or  Goddess  of  old, 

Or  Naiad  rising  from  the  water, 

But  modelled  from  the  Master's  daughter 

On  many  a  dreary  and  misty  night, 

'Twill  be  seen  by  the  rays  of  the  signal  light, 

Speeding  along  through  the  rain  and  the  dark, 

Like  a  ghost  in  its  snow-white  sark, 

The  pilot  of  some  phantom  bark, 

Guiding  the  vessel,  in  its  flight, 

By  a  path  none  other  knows  aright ! 

Behold,  at  last, 
Each  tall  and  tapering  mast 
Is  swung  into  its  place ; 
Shrouds  and  stays 
Holding  it  firm  and  fast ! 

Long  ago, 

In  the  deer-haunted  forests  of  Maine, 

When  upon  mountain  and  plain 

Lay  the  snow, 

They  fell,  —  those  lordly  pines ! 

Those  grand,  majestic  pines ! 

'Mid  shouts  and  cheers 

The  jaded  steers, 

Panting  beneath  the  goad, 

Dragged  down  the  weary,  winding  road 

Those  captive  kings  so  straight  and  tall, 

To  be  shorn  of  their  streaming  hair, 


SELECTIONS  FKOM  LONGFELLOW.  429 

And  naked  and  bare, 

To  feel  the  stress  and  the  strain 

Of  the  wind  and  the  reeling  main, 

Whose  roar 

Would  remind  them  forevermore 

Of  their  native  forests  they  should  not  see  again. 

And  everywhere 

The  slender,  graceful  spars 

Toise  aloft  in  the  air, 

And  at  the  mast-head, 

White,  blue,  and  red, 

A  flag  unrolls  the  stripes  and  stars. 

Ah !  when  the  wanderer,  lonely,  friendless, 

In  foreign  harbors  shall  behold 

That  flag  unrolled, 

'Twill  be  as  a  friendly  hand 

Stretched  out  from  his  native  land, 

Filling  his  heart  with  memories  sweet  and  endless ! 

All  is  finished  !  and  at  length 

Has  come  the  bridal  day 

Of  beauty  and  of  strength. 

To-day  the  vessel  shall  be  launched  ! 

With  fleecy  clouds  the  sky  is  blanched, 

And  o'er  the  bay, 

Slowly,  in  all  his  splendors  dight, 

The  great  sun  rises  to  behold  the  sight. 

The  ocean  old, 

Centuries  old, 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled, 

Paces  restless  to  and  fro, 

Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold. 

His  beating  heart  is  not  at  rest; 

And  far  and  wide, 

With  ceaseless  flow, 

His  beard  of  snow 

Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast. 

He  waits  impatient  for  his  bride. 

There  she  stands, 


430  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

With  her  foot  upon  the  sands, 

Decked  with  flags  and  streamers  gay, 

In  honor  of  her  marriage  day, 

Her  snow-white  signals  fluttering,  blending, 

Round  her  like  a  veil  descending, 

Ready  to  be 

The  bride  of  the  gray  old  sea. 

On  the  deck  another  bride 
Is  standing  by  her  lover's  side. 
Shadows  from  the  flags  and  shrouds, 
Like  the  shadows  cast  by  clouds, 
Broken  by  many  a  sudden  fleck, 
Fall  around  them  on  the  deck. 

The  prayer  is  said, 

The  service  read, 

The  joyous  bridegroom  bows  his  head ; 

And  in  tears  the  good  old  Master 

Shakes  the  brown  hand  of  his  son, 

Kisses  his  daughter's  glowing  cheek 

In  silence,  for  he  cannot  speak, 

And  ever  faster 

Down  his  own  the  tears  begin  to  run. 

The  worthy  pastor  — 

The  shepherd  of  that  wandering  flock, 

That  has  the  vessel  for  its  wold, 

That  has  the  ocean  for  its  fold, 

Leaping  ever  from  rock  to  rock  — 

Spake,  with  accents  mild  and  clear, 

Words  of  warning,  words  of  cheer, 

But  tedious  to  the  bridegroom's  ear. 

He  knew  the  chart 

Of  the  sailor's  heart, 

All  its  pleasures  and  its  griefs, 

All  its  shallows  and  rocky  reefs, 

All  those  secret  currents,  that  flow 

With  such  resistless  undertow, 

And  lift  and  drift,  with  terrible  force, 

The  will  from  its  moorings  and  its  course. 

Therefore  he  spake,  and  thus  said  he :  — 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  431 

"  Like  unto  ships  far  off  at  sea, 

Outward  or  homeward  bound,  are  we. 

Before,  behind,  and  all  around, 

Floats  and  swings  the  horizon's  bound, 

S*eems  at  its  distant  rim  to  rise 

And  climb  the  crystal  wall  of  the  skies, 

And  then  again  to  turn  and  sink, 

As  if  we  could  slide  from  its  outer  brink. 

Ah  !  it  is  not  the  sea, 

It  is  not  the  sea  that  sinks  and  shelves, 

But  ourselves 

That  rock  and  rise 

With  endless  and  uneasy  motion, 

Now  touching  the  very  skies, 

Now  sinking  into  the  depths  of  ocean. 

Ah !  if  our  souls  but  poise  and  swing 

Like  the  compass  in  its  brazen  ring, 

Ever  level  and  ever  true 

To  the  toil  and  the  task  we  have  to  do, 

We  shall  sail  securely,  and  safely  reach 

The  Fortunate  Isles,"  on  whose  shining  beach 

The  sights  we  see,  and  the  sounds  we  hear, 

Will  be  those  of  joy  and  not  of  fear  !  " 

Then  the  Master, 

With  a  gesture  of  command, 

Waved  his  hand ; 

And  at  the  word, 

Loud  and  sudden  there  was  heard, 

All  around  them  and  below, 

The  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow, 

Knocking  away  the  shores  and  spurs. 

And  see  !  she  stirs  ! 

She  starts,  —  she  moves,  —  she  seems  to  feel 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel, 

And,  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground, 

With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound, 

She  leaps  into  the  ocean's  arms ! 

And  lo !  from  the  assembled  crowd 
There  rose  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud, 


432  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

That  to  the  ocean  seemed  to  say, 

"  Take  her,  O  bridegroom,  old  and  gray, 

Take  her  to  thy  protecting  arms, 

With  all  her  youth  and  all  her  charms  !  " 

How  beautiful  she  is  !     How  fair 

She  lies  within  those  arms,  that  press 

Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress 

Of  tenderness  and  watchful  care  ! 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  O  ship  ! 

Through  wind  and  wave,  right  onward  steer  ! 

The  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip, 

Are  not  the  signs  of  doubt  or  fear. 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life, 
O  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife, 
And  safe  from  all  adversity 
Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea 
Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be  ! 
For  gentleness  and  love  and  trust 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust ; 
And  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives 
Something  immortal  still  survives! 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State ! 
Sail  on,  O  UNION,  strong  and  great ! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate ! 
We  know  what  Master  IZ  laid  thy  keel, 
What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 
In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope ! 
Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 
'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock ; 
Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 
And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale  ! 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LONGFELLOW.  433 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 
Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea  ! 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee, 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 
Are  all  with  thee  —  are  all  with  thee  ! 


434  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES   TO   LONGFELLOW. 

FOR  a  general  introduction  to  each  poem,  consult  the  preceding  sketch. 

The  poems  selected  are  all  well  known.  It  is  probable  that  the  student 
is  already  familiar  with  them.  But  there  is  a  great  deal  of  superficial  reading ; 
and  it  is  possible  that  a  careful  study  will  not  only  reveal  new  beauty  in  each 
poem,  but  also  lead  to  a  higher  appreciation  of  the  poet's  genius  and  art. 

A  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 

Of  this  poem  Mr.  Longfellow  said  :  "I  kept  it  some  time  in  manuscript, 
unwilling  to  show  it  to  any  one,  it  being  a  voice  from  my  inmost  heart,  at  a 
time  when  I  was  rallying  from  depression."  His  first  wife  died  in  1835,  and 
the  poem  was  published  in  1838.  Before  its  publication  the  poet  read  it  to 
his  college  class  at  the  close  of  a  lecture  on  Goethe. 

The  poem  is  the  message  of  courage  and  hope  that  the  psalmist's  heart 
brought  to  him.  Under  the  temporary  shock  and  depression  of  bereavement, 
he  felt  that  life  is  empty,  that  immortality  is  a  fiction,  and  that  duty  is  a 
phantom.  It  is  a  feeling  that  at  times  comes  to  most  men. 

With  the  second  stanza  begins  the  strong,  earnest  voice  of  the  psalmist's 
heart.  It  corrects  his  despairing  view  of  life.  With  a  reference  to  the  story 
of  man's  creation  in  Genesis,  it  declares  the  truth  of  man's  immortality.  It 
then  points  out  the  true  end  of  life,  the  spirit  in  which  duty  is  to  be  met,  and 
the  beneficent  influence  of  heroic  example.  It  concludes  with  the  practical 
exhortation,  "  learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

The  "  Psalm  of  Life  "  is  a  good  specimen  of  Longfellow's  didactic  poetry. 
It  is  a  short  sermon  or  moral  lecture  in  verse,  with  an  introduction,  argument, 
and  conclusion.  No  word  or  phrase  should  be  passed  without  determining  its 
meaning,  and  the  successive  steps  of  the  argument  should  be  pointed  out.  It 
is  safe  to  say  that  there  is  a  great  deal  more  in  the  poem  than  most  readers 
find. 

FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS. 

The  original  title  of  this  poem  was  "  Evening  Shadows."  The  reference 
in  the  fourth  stanza  is  to  the  poet's  brother-in-law,  George  W.  Pierce,  of 
whom  he  wrote  long  afterwards,  "  I  have  never  ceased  to  feel  that  in  his 
death  something  was  taken  from  my  own  life  which  could  never  be  restored." 
Longfellow  received  the  news  of  his  death  at  Heidelberg  on  Christmas  Eve, 


NOTES   TO  LONGFELLOW.  435 

1835,  less  than  a  month  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  who  is  tenderly  referred 
to  in  the  closing  stanzas.  This  poem  exhibits  not  only  the  true-hearted  char- 
acter of  the  poet,  but  also  the  sound  moral  tone  of  all  his  poetry.  The  verse 
is  simple  and  clear  throughout. 

THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

This  is  an  admirable  ballad.  In  its  main  features  it  was  no  doubt  sug- 
gested by  Coleridge's  "  Ancient  Mariner."  It  was  built  up  from  the  slender- 
est foundation  of  fact,  and  may'  fairly  be  regarded  as  one  of  Longfellow's 
most  imaginative  pieces.  It  is  artistically  wrought  out  in  all  its  parts,  and 
the  verse  shows  more  vigor  than  usual.  The  stanzas  are  compact,  and  the 
epithets  happily  chosen. 

The  historic  groundwork  is  found  in  the  Round  Tower  of  Newport  and 
the  Fall  River  skeleton.  The  theory  of  the  Norse  origin  of  the  tower  is 
accepted.  The  bold  Viking  says,  — 

«  There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 
Stands  looking  seaward." 

In  digging  down  a  hill  near  Fall  River,  3-  skeleton  was  discovered  in  a 
sitting  posture.  On  the  breast  was  a  plate  of  brass,  evidently  intended  for 
protective  armor.  The  origin  of  the  skeleton,  though  probably  that  of  an 
Indian,  has  not  been  definitely  determined.  In  the  poem,  however,  it  is  the 
skeleton  of  the  suicide  Viking,  — 

"  In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

Oh,  death  was  grateful!" 

Much  of  the  beauty  of  the  poem  will  be  lost  without  a  vivid  conception 
of  the  wild  life  of  the  Vikings.  Who  were  they  ?  Where  did  they  live  ? 
Their  daring  spirit  is  well  exhibited  in  the  poem.  The  "  wassail-bouts  "  and 
minstrel  songs  introduce  us  to  the  castle-life  of  the  mediaeval  period.  Almost 
every  stanza  presents  a  clear-cut  and  interesting  picture.  "To  old-fashioned 
people,"  says  Stedman,  "  this  heroic  ballad  is  worth  a  year's  product  of  what 
I  may  term  Kensington-stitch  verse." 

1.  Skald '=an    ancient   Scandinavian  minstrel,  the  equivalent  of  bard 
among  Celtic  peoples. 

2.  Saga  =  a  Scandinavian  myth,  or  heroic  story  ;  in  a  wider  sense,  a 
legeml. 


436  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

3.  The  Sound  is  a  sea-passage  between  Sweden  and  the  island  of  Zea- 
land in  Denmark.     In  its  narrowest  part  it  is  three  miles  wide. 

4.  Werewolf  =  a  person  who,  according  to  mediaeval  superstition,  be- 
came voluntarily  or  involuntarily  a  wolf,  and  in  that  form  practised  cannibal- 
ism.    Otherwise  spelled  -werwolf. 

5  7;  'serk  =  in  Norse  legend  a  warrior  who  fought  with  frenzied  fury, 
known  i.  the  "berserker  rage." 

C .  lildebrand  was  a  common  name  in  the  legendary  lore  of  the  Teutonic 
race. 

7.  The  Skaw  is  a  cape  at  the  northeastern  extremity  of  Jutland  in  Den- 
mark. 

8.  Skoal. — Of   this  word  Longfellow  said:    "In  Scandinavia,  this  is 
the  customary  salutation  when  drinking  a  health.     I  have  slightly  changed  the 
orthography  of  the  word,  in  order  to  preserve  the  correct  pronunciation." 

THE  ARSENAL  AT  SPRINGFIELD. 

In  1777  General  Washington  selected  Springfield  as  a  suitable  location 
for  an  arsenal.  Small  arms  were  manufactured  there  a  few  years  later,  and 
since  then  it  has  become  a  large  factory  and  repository. 

In  1843,  when  on  his  wedding  journey,  Longfellow  visited  the  arsenal  in 
company  with  bis  bride  and  Charles  Sumner.  "  While  Mr.  Sumner  was  en- 
deavoring," says  Mr.  Samuel  Longfellow,  "  to  impress  upon  the  attendant 
that  the  money  expended  upon  those  weapons  of  war  would  have  been  much 
better  spent  upon  a  large  library,  Mrs.  Longfellow  pleased  her  husband  by 
remarking  how  like  an  organ  looked  the  ranged  and  shining  gun-barrels 
which  covered  the  walls  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  suggesting  what  mournful 
music  Death  would  bring  from  them.  '  We  grew  quite  warlike  against  war,' 
she  wrote,  '  and  I  urged  H.  to  write  a  peace  poem.'  "  The  poem  was  written 
some  months  later. 

The  subject  took  deep  hold  upon  the  poet.  The  poem  is  written  with 
extraordinary  energy.  Like  nearly  all  of  Longfellow's  verse,  it  has  a  moral 
purpose.  It  teaches  the  religion  of  humanity.  It  consists  of  an  introduction, 
a  rapid  review  of  war  scenes  in  successive  ages  and  different  countries,  mourn- 
ful reflections  on  the  wrong  and  curse  of  war,  and  concludes  with  the  cheer- 
ing prophecy  of  the  reign  of  universal  peace. 

1.  Miserere  =  a  musical  composition  adapted  to  the   Fifty-first  Psalm. 
It  is  the  first  word  of  that  Psalm  in  the  Latin  version,  and  means  have  mercy. 
The  miserere  is  of  frequent  occurrence  in  the  services  of  the  Roman  Church, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  expressive  chants  in  the  whole  range  of  sacred  music. 

2.  Saxon  hammer  —  a  weapon  of  attack  in  war  used  by  the  Saxons  and 


NOTES   TO  LONGFELLOW. 


437 


others  during  the  Middle  Ages.    The  hammer  usually  had  one  blunt  face,  with 
a  sharp  point  on  the  opposite  side. 

3.  Cimbric  =  pertaining  to  the  Cimbri,  an  ancient  people  of  central  Eu- 
rope.    The  peninsula  of  Jutland  was  named  from  them,  the  Cimbric  Cherso- 
nese. 

4.  Teocalli  =  a  structure  of  earth  and  stone  or  brick,  used  as  a  temple 
or  place  of  worship  by  the  Aztecs  and  other  aborigines  of  America.     It  was 
generally  a  solid,  four-sided,  truncated  pyramid,  built  terrace-wise,  with  the 
temple  proper  on  the  platform  at  the  summit. 

5.  Curse  of  Cain.     See  Gen.  iv.  11-15. 

6.  Peace.     See  Mark  iv.  39. 

THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP. 

As  already  indicated,  the  form  of  this  poem  is  borrowed  from  Schiller's 
"Song  of  the  Bell  ;  "  and  it  is  scarcely  inferior  to  the  work  of  the  great 
German.  The  poet's  heart  was  in  his  work  ;  and  the  metre  and  rhythm  are 
in  excellent  keeping  with  the  thought  and  sentiment.  He  had  probably 
learned  something  of  ship-building  in  Portland.  The  successive  pictures  pre- 
sented by  the  poem  have  been  compared  to  instantaneous  photographs.  The 
felling  of  the  giant  pines  and  the  terrors  and  mysteries  of  the  sea  are  admi- 
rably described.  The  human  element  is  no  less  interesting.  The  ship-builder, 
with  his  conscious  skill  and  integrity,  is  a  fine  portrait.  The  love-story  inter- 
woven with  the  main  narrative  gives  the  poem  an  air  of  tenderness.  The 
name  of  the  vessel  suggests  the  American  Union,  and  the  poem  concludes 
with  a  noble  burst  of  patriotic  feeling.  It  has  been  pronounced  "  the  freshest 
and  most  stirring  of  our  national  poems." 

1.  Master  =  proprietor  of  a  ship-yard. 

2.  Great  Harry  =  the  first  war-ship  of  the  British  navy,  built  in  1438. 

3.  Crank  =  liable  to  careen  or  be  capsized. 

4.  Knarred—  gnarled,  knotty. 

5.  Pascagoula  Bay  is  in  the  southeastern  part  of  Mississippi.     The  river 
of  the  same  name,  which  empties  into  the  bay,  runs  through  a  sandy  region 
of  pine  forests. 

6.  Roanoke  =  a   river  of  Virginia  and  North  Carolina,  emptying  into 
Albemarle  Sound.     It  rises  in  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  and  in  its  course  in 
Virginia  may,  with  some  justice,  be  characterized  as  "  roaring." 

7.  Slip  =  an  inclined  plane  on  the  bank  of  a  river  or  harbor,  intended 
for  ship-building. 

8.  Keel=  the  principal  timber  in  a  ship,  extending  from  stem  to  stern 
at  the  bottom. 

9.  Lascar  =  a  native  sailor  employed  in  European  vessels  in  East  India. 


438  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

10.  Stemson  =  a  piece  of  curved  timber  fixed  on  the  after  part  of  the 
apron  inside.     The  lower  end  is  scarfed  into  the  keelson,  and  receives  the 
scarf  of  the  stem,  through  which  it  is  bolted.  —  Keelson  —  a  beam  running 
lengthwise  above  the  keel  of  the  ship,  and  bolted  to  the  middle  of  the  floor- 
frames,  in  order  to  stiffen  the  vessel.  —  Sternson  =  the  end  of  a  ship's  keelson, 
to  which  the  stern-post  is  bolted. 

11.  The  Fortunate  Isles,  according  to  the  ancients,  were  located  off  the 
western  coast  of  Africa.     Their  name  is  due  to  their  remarkable  beauty,  and 
the  abundance  of  all  things  desirable  which  they  were  supposed  to  contain. 
By  some  they  are  identified  with  the  Canaries. 

12.  Master  =  Washington.     The  workmen  referred  to  in  the  next  line 
are  the  statesmen  who  assisted  in  organizing  our  government. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL. 


XIV. 
SELECTIONS   FROM   LOWELL. 

WHAT  MR.  ROBINSON  THINKS. 

GUVENER  B.1  is  a  sensible  man; 

He  stays  to  his  home  an1  looks  arter  his  folks ; 
He  draws  his  furrer  ez  straight  ez  he  can, 
An1  into  nobody's  tater-patch  pokes ;  — 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

My !  aint  it  terrible  ?     What  shall  we  du  ? 

We  can't  never  choose  him  o'  course,  —  thet's  flat : 
Guess  we  shall  hev  to  come  round,  (don't  you  ?) 
An'  go  in  fer  thunder  an'  guns,  an'  all  that ; 
Fer  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

Gineral  C.2  is  a  dreffle  smart  man : 

He's  ben  on  all  sides  thet  give  places  or  pelf, 
But  consistency  still  wuz  a  part  of  his  plan,  — 

He's  ben  true  to  one  party,  -—an1  thet  is  himself; 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 

Gineral  C.  he  goes  in  fer  the  war ; 

He  don't  vally  principle  more'n  an  old  cud ; 
Wut  did  God  make  us  raytional  creeturs  fer, 

But  glory  an'  gunpowder,  plunder  an'  blood  ? 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 


439 


44°  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

We  were  gittin'  on  nicely  up  here  to  our  village,3 

With  good  old  idees  o'  wut's  right  an1  wut  aint, 
We  kind  o'  thought  Christ  went  agin1  war  an'  pillage, 
An'  thet  eppyletts  worn't  the  best  mark  of  a  saint ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  kind  o'  thing's  an  exploded  idee. 

The  side  of  our  country  must  oilers  be  took, 

An'  President  Polk,  you  know,  he  is  our  country ; 
An'  the  angel  thet  writes  all  our  sins  in  a  book 

Puts  the  debit  to  him,  an'  to  us  the/^r  contry;* 
An'  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  is  his  view  o'  the  thing  to  a  T. 

Parson  Wilbur  he  calls  all  these  argimunts  lies ; 

Sez  they  're  nothin'  on  airth  but  }£s\.fee,faw,fu}n:*  — 
An'  thet  all  this  big  talk  of  our  destinies 

Is  half  ov  it  ign'ance,  an'  t'other  half  rum ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  it  aint  no  sech  thing ;  an',  of  course,  so  must  we. 

Parson  Wilbur  sez  he  never  heerd  in  his  life 

Thet  th'  Apostles  rigged  out  in  their  swaller-tail  coats 
An'  marched  round  in  front  of  a  drum  an1  a  fife, 

To  git  some  on  'em  office,  an'  some  on  'em  votes ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  they  didn't  know  everythin'  down  in  Judee. 

Wai,  it's  a  marcy  we've  gut  folks  to  tell  us 

The  rights  an'  the  wrongs  o'  these  matters,  I  vow, 
God  sends  country  lawyers,  an'  other  wise  fellers, 
To  drive  the  world's  team  wen  it  gits  in  a  slough  ; 
FerJohnP. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  the  world'll  go  right,  ef  he  hollers  out  Gee ! 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL.  441 


THE   PRESENT   CRISIS. 

WHEN  a  deed  is  done  for  Freedom,  through  the  broad  earth's  aching 

breast 

Runs  a  thrill  of  joy  prophetic,  trembling  on  from  east  to  west, 
And  the  slave,  where'er  he  cowers,  feels  the  soul  within  him  climb 
To  the  awful  verge  of  manhood,  as  the  energy  sublime 
Of  a  century  bursts  full-blossomed  on  the  thorny  stem  of  Time. 

Through  the  walls  of  hut  and  palace  shoots  the  instantaneous  throe, 
When  the  travail  of  the  Ages  wrings  earth's  systems  to  and  fro : 
At  the  birth  of  each  new  Era,  with  a  recognizing  start, 
Nation  wildly  looks  at  nation,  standing  with  mute  lips  apart, 
And  glad  Truth's  yet  mightier  man-child  leaps  beneath  the  Future's 
heart. 

So  the  Evil's  triumph  sendeth,  with  a  terror  and  a  chill, 

Under  continent  to  continent,  the  sense  of  coming  ill, 

And  the  slave,  where'er  he  cowers,  feels  his  sympathies  with  God  ' 

In  hot  tear-drops  ebbing  earthward,  to  be  drunk  up  by  the  sod, 

Till  a  corpse  crawls  round  unburied,  delving  in  the  nobler  clod. 

For  mankind  are  one  in  spirit,  and  an  instinct  bears  along, 
Round  the  earth's  electric  circle,  the  swift  flash  of  right  or  wrong ;  2 
Whether  conscious  or  unconscious,  yet  Humanity's  vast  frame 
Through  its  ocean-sundered  fibres  feels  the  gush  of  joy  or  shame;  — 
In  the  gain  or  loss  of  one  race  all  the  rest  have  equal  claim.3 

Once  to  every  man  and  nation  comes  the  moment  to  decide, 
In  the  strife  of  Truth  with  Falsehood,  for  the  good  or  evil  side; 
Some  great  cause,  God's   new  Messiah,  offering  each  the  bloom  or 

blight, 

Parts  the  goats  upon  the  left  hand,  and  the  sheep  upon  the  right, 
And  the  choice  goes  by  forever  'twixt  that  darkness  and  that  light. 

Hast  thou  chosen,  O  my  people,  on  whose  party  thou  shalt  stand, 
Ere  the  Doom  from  its  worn  sandals  shakes  the  dust  against  our  land  ? 
Though  the  cause  of  Evil  prosper,  yet  'tis  Truth  alone  is  strong,4 
And,  albeit  she  wander  outcast  now,  I  see  around  her  throng 
Troops  of  beautiful,  tall  angels,  to  enshield  her  from  all  wrong. 


442  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Backward  look  across  the  ages  and  the  beacon-moments  see, 

That,  like  peaks  of  some  sunk  continent,  jut  through  Oblivion's  sea; 

Not  an  ear  in  court  or  market  for  the  low  foreboding  cry 

Of  those  Crises,  God's  stern  winnowers,  from  whose  feet  earth's  chaff 

must  fly ; 
Never  shows  the  choice  momentous  till  the  judgment  hath  passed  by. 

Careless  seems  the  great  Avenger ;  history's  pages  but  record 
One  death-grapple  in  the  darkness  'twixt  old  systems  and  the  Word  ;5 
Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold,  Wrong  forever  on  the  throne, — 
Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future,  and,  behind  the  dim  unknown, 
Standeth  God  within  the  shadow,  keeping  watch  above  his  own. 

We  see  dimly  in  the  Present  what  is  small  and  what  is  great, 

Slow  of  faith  how  weak  an  arm  may  turn  the  iron  helm  of  fate, 

But  the  soul  is  still  oracular;  amid  the  market's  din, 

List  the  ominous  stern  whisper  from  the  Delphic6  cave  within,  — 

"  They  enslave  their  children's  children  who  make  compromise  with 


Slavery,  the  earth-born  Cyclops,7  fellest  of  the  giant  brood, 

Sons  of  brutish  Force  and  Darkness,  who  have  drenched  the  earth 

with  blood, 

Famished  in  his  self-made  desert,  blinded  by  our  purer  day, 
Gropes  in  yet  unblasted  regions  for  his  miserable  prey  ;  — 
Shall  we  guide  his  gory  ringers  where  our  helpless  children  play? 

Then  to  side  with  truth  is  noble  when  we  share  her  wretched  crust, 
Ere  her  cause  bring  fame  and  profit,  and  'tis  prosperous  to  be  just ; 
Then  it  is  the  brave  man  chooses,  while  the  coward  stands  aside, 
Doubting  in  his  abject  spirit,  till  his  Lord  is  crucified, 
And  the  multitude  make  virtue  of  the  faith  they  had  denied. 

Count  me  o'er  earth's  chosen  heroes,  —  they  were  souls  that  stood 

alone, 

While  the  men  they  agonized  for  hurled  the  contumelious  stone, 
Stood  serene,  and  down  the  future  saw  the  golden  beam  incline 
To  the  side  of  perfect  justice,  mastered  by  their  faith  divine; 
By  one  man's  plain  truth  to  manhood  and  to  God's  supreme  design.8 

By  the  light  of  burning  heretics  Christ's  bleeding  feet  I  track, 
Toiling  up  new  Calyaries  ever  with  the  cross  that  turns  not  back, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL.  443 

And  these  mounts  of  anguish  number  how  each  generation  learned 
One  new  word  of  that  grand  Credo9  which   in   prophet-hearts  hath 

burned 

Since  the  first  man  stood  God-conquered  with  his  face  to  heaven  up- 
turned. 

For  Humanity  sweeps  onward :  where  to-day  the  martyr  stands, 
On  the  morrow  crouches  Judas  with  the  silver  in  his  hands; 
Far  in  front  the  cross  stands  ready  and  the  crackling  fagots  burn, 
While  the  hooting  mob  of  yesterday  in  silent  awe  return 
To  glean  up  the  scattered  ashes  into  History's  golden  urn. 

Tis  as  easy  to  be  heroes  as  to  sit  the  idle  slaves 

Of  a  legendary  virtue  carved  upon  our  fathers'  graves, 

Worshippers  of  light  ancestral  make  the  present  light  a  crime  ;  — 

Was  the  Mayflower  launched  by  cowards,  steered  by  men  behind  their 

time? 
Turn  those  tracks  toward  Past  or  Future,  that  make  Plymouth  Rock 

sublime?  I0 

They  were  men  of  present  valor,  stalwart  old  iconoclasts, 

Unconvinced  by  axe  or  gibbet  that  all  virtue  was  the  Past's ; 

But  we  make  their  truth  our  falsehood,  thinking  that  hath  made  us 

free, 

Hoarding  it  in  mouldy  parchments,  while  our  tender  spirits  flee 
The  rude  grasp  of  that  great  Impulse  which  drove  them  across  the  sea. 

They  have  rights  who  dare  maintain  them ;  we  are  traitors  to  our  sires, 
Smothering  in  their  holy  ashes  Freedom's  new-lit  altar-fires ; 
Shall  we  make  their  creed  our  jailer?     Shall  we,  in  our  haste  to  slay, 
From  the  tombs  of  the  old  prophets  steal  the  funeral  lamps  away 
To  light  up  the  martyr-fagots  round  the  prophets  of  to-day? 

New  occasions  teach  new  duties ;  Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth ; 
They  must   upward    still,  and   onward,  who  would  keep  abreast  of 

Truth ; 

Lo,  before  us  gleam  her  camp-fires !  we  ourselves  must  Pilgrims  be, 
Launch  our  Mayflower,  and  steer  boldly  through  the  desperate  winter 

sea, 
Nor  attempt  the  Future's  portal  with  the  Past's  blood-rusted  key. 


444  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

THE   VISION   OF   SIR   LAUNFAL. 

PRELUDE   TO    PART    FIRST.1 

OVER  his  keys  the  musing  organist, 

Beginning  doubtfully  and  far  away, 
First  lets  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list, 

And  builds  a  bridge  from  Dreamland  for  his  lay : 
Then,  as  the  touch  of  his  loved' instrument 

Gives  hope  and  fervor,  nearer  draws  his  theme, 
First  guessed  by  faint  auroral  flushes  sent 

Along  the  wavering  vista  of  his  dream.2 


Not  only  around  our  infancy 
Doth  heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lie ; 3 
Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not. 

Over  our  manhood  bend  the  skies ; 

Against  our  fallen  and  traitor  lives 
The  great  winds  utter  prophecies  : 

With  our  faint  hearts  the  mountain  strives ; 
Its  arms  outstretched,  the  druid  wood 

Waits  with  its  benedbite; 
And  to  our  age's  drowsy  blocd 

Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea. 

Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us ; 

The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives  us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in ; 
At  the  Devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold  ; 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  souPs  tasking : 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking; 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer ; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer.4 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL. 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? s 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days  ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays  : 6 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten  ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys ; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives  ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings ; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest,  — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best?7 

Now  is  the  high-tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer, 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creak  and  bay ; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it ; 8 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'Tis  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell ; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  knowing 
That  Skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing; 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 
That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near,9 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are  flowing, 


445 


446  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by ; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack ; 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing, 
And  hark  !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing ! 

Joy  comes,  grief  goes,  we  know  not  how ; 
Everything  is  happy  now, 

Everything  is  upward  striving ; 
'Tis  as  easy  now  for  the  heart  to  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  to  be  blue, 

'Tis  the  natural  way  of  living : 
Who  knows  whither  the  clouds  have  fled? 

In  the  unscarred  heaven  they  leave  no  wake ; 
And  the  eyes  forget  the  tears  they  have  shed, 

The  heart  forgets  its  sorrow  and  ache ; 
The  soul  partakes  of  the  season's  youth, 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 

Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 
What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal  now 
Remembered  the  keeping  of  his  vow  ?  I0 


PART    FIRST. 


"  My  golden  spurs  now  bring  to  me, 
And  bring  to  me  my  richest  mail, 

For  to-morrow  I  go  over  land  and  sea 
In  search  of  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Shall  never  a  bed  for  me  be  spread, 

Nor  shall  a  pillow  be  under  my  head, 

Till  I  begin  my  vow  to  keep ; 

Here  on  the  rushes  will  I  sleep, 

And  perchance  there  may  come  a  vision  true 

Ere  day  create  the  world  anew.1" 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL.  447 

Slowly  Sir  Launfal's  eyes  grew  dim, 
Slumber  fell  like  a  cloud  on  him, 
And  into  his  soul  the  vision  flew. 


The  crows  flapped  over  by  twos  and  threes, 

In  the  pool  drowsed  the  cattle  up  to  their  knees, 

The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  were 

The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 
And  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  sing  on  the  trees 
The  castle  alone  in  the  landscape  lay 
Like  an  outpost  of  winter,  dull  and  gray : 
'Twas  the  proudest  hall  in  the  North  Countree, 
And  never  its  gates  might  opened  be, 
Save  to  lord  or  lady  of  high  degree ; 
Summer  besieged  it  on  every  side, 
But  the  churlish  stone  her  assaults  defied ; 
She  could  not  scale  the  chilly  wall, 
Though  around  it  for  leagues  her  pavilions  tall 
Stretched  left  and  right, 
Over  the  hills  and  out  of  sight ; 

Green  and  broad  was  every  tent, 

And  out  of  each  a  murmur  went 
Till  the  breeze  fell  off  at  night. 


The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a  surly  clang, 
And  through  the  dark  arch  a  charger  sprang, 
Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight, 
In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 
Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its  wall 

In  his  siege  of  three  hundred  summers  long, 
And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf, 

Had  cast  them  forth :  so,  young  and  strong, 
And  lightsome  as  a  locust-leaf, 
Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  unscarred  mail, 
To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail. 


AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 


It  was  morning  on  hill  and  stream  and  tree, 
And  morning  in  the  young  knight's  heart ; 

Only  the  castle  moodily 

Rebuffed  the  gifts  of  the  sunshine  free, 
And  gloomed  by  itself  apart ; 

The  season  brimmed  all  other  things  up 

Full  as  the  rain  fills  the  pitcher-plant's  cup. 


As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate, 

He  was  'ware  of  leper,  crouched  by  the  same, 
Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he  sate ; 

And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came  ; 
The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill, 

The  flesh  'neath  his  armor  'gan  shrink  and  crawl, 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall ; 
For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature, 
Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature, 
And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer  morn,  — 
So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 


The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust : 
"  Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust, 
Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door ; 
That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold ; 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty  ; 
But  he  "  who  gives  but  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite,  — 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 
The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms, 
For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  before. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL.  449 


PRELUDE    TO    PART   SECOND.12 

Down  swept  the  chill  wind  from  the  mountain  peak, 

From  the  snow  five  thousand  summers  old ; 
On  open  wold  and  hill-top  bleak 

It  had  gathered  all  the  cold, 

And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's  cheek ; 
It  carried  a  shiver  everywhere 
From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare  ; 
The  little  brook  heard  it  and  built  a  roof'3 
'Neath  which  he  could  house  him,  winter-proof; 
All  night  by  the  white  stars'  frosty  gleams 
He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams ; 
Slender  and  clear  were  his  crvstal  spars 
As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars ; 
He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 
In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight ; 
Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipt 
Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest-crypt, 
Long,  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 
Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze ; 
Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretwork  knew 
But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew ; 
Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief 
With  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf; 
Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 
For  the  gladness  of  heaven  to  shine  through,  and  here 
He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 
And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond-drops, 
That  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun, 
And  made  a  star  of  every  one  : 
No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 
Could  match  this  winter-palace  of  ice ; 
'Twas  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay 
In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 
Each  fleeting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky, 

Lest  the  happy  model  should  be  lost, 
Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 

By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost.'4 


450  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Within  the  hall  are  song  and  laughter, 

The  cheeks  of  Christmas  grow  red  and  jolly, 
And  sprouting  is  every  corbel 1S  and  rafter 

With  lightsome  green  of  ivy  and  holly ; 
Through  the  deep  gulf  of  the  chimney  wide 

Wallows  the  Yulelog's  roaring  tide  ;  l6 
The  broad  flame-pennons  droop  and  flap 

And  belly  and  tug  as  a  flag  in  the  wind  ; 
Like  a  locust  shrills  the  imprisoned  sap, 

Hunted  to  death  in  its  galleries  blind ; 
And  swift  little  troops  of  silent  sparks, 

Now  pausing,  now  scattering  away  as  in  fear, 
Go  threading  the  soot-forest's  tangled  darks 

Like  herds  of  startled  deer. 
But  the  wind  without  was  eager  and  sharp, 
Of  Sir  Launfal's  gray  hair  it  makes  a  harp, 
And  rattles  and  wrings 
The  icy  strings, 

Singing,  in  dreary  monotone, 

A  Christmas  carol  of  its  own, 

Whose  burden  still,  as  he  might  guess, 

Was — "  Shelterless,  shelterless,  shelterless  !' 
The  voice  of  the  seneschal  flared  like  a  torch 
As  he  shouted  the  wanderer  away  from  the  porch, 
And  he  sat  in  the  gateway  and  saw  all  night 

The  great  hall-fire,  so  cheery  and  bold, 

Through  the  window-slits  of  the  castle  old, 
Build  out  its  piers  of  ruddy  light 

Against  the  drift  of  the  cold. 


PART    SECOND. 

I. 

There  was  never  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree, 
The  bare  boughs  rattled  shudderingly ; 
The  river  was  dumb  and  could  not  speak, 

For  the  weaver  Winter  its  shroud  had  spun, 
A  single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 

From  his  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold  sun: 
Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL.  451 

As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old, 

And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 

For  a  last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 


Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate, 

For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate  ; 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross, 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore, 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 


Sir  Launfal's  raiment  thin  and  spare 

Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time ; 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 

In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long-ago; 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 

O'er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small, 

Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one, 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun, 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 

To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass, 

The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade, 

And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 

And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 


"  For  Christ's  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms ; "  — 
The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 
But  Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing, 
The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone, 
That  cowers  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 


452  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


And  Sir  Launfal  said,  —  "I  behold  in  thee 

An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree ; 

Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns,  — 

Thou  also  hast  had  the  world's  buffets  and  scorns,  — 

And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 

The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side : 

Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me  ; 

Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  Thee  !  " 


Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 

And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 

He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 
When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust ; 
He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 
He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink, 
And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink  : 
'Twas  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

'Twas  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl,  — 
Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 

And  'twas  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty  soul. 

VII. 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 

A  light  shone  round  about  the  place ; 

The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 

But  stood  before  him  glorified, 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate,17  — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 

Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 


His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the  pine, 
And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the  brine, 
That  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 


SELECTIONS  FROM  LOWELL.  453 

With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon ; 

And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence  said, 

"  Lo  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid ! 

In  many  climes,  without  avail, 

Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Behold,  it  is  here,  —  this  cup  which  thou 

Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  Me  but  now ; 

This  crust  is  My  body  broken  for  thee, 

This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree ; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed, 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need : 

Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share,  — 

For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare ; 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three,  — 

Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  Me.'"8 


Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a  swound :  - 
"The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found! 
Hang  my  idle  armor  up  on  the  wall, 
Let  it  be  the  spider's  banquet-hall ; 
He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail.1 


The  castle  gate  stands  open  now, 

And  the  wanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall 
As  the  hangbird  is  to  the  elm-tree  bough ;  '9 

No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall, 
The  Summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er; 
When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door, 
She  entered  with  him  in  disguise, 
And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise ; 
There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  well  on  ground, 
She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year  round: 
The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal's  land 
Has  hall  and  bower  at  his  command  ; 
And  there's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 
But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 


454  AA1E1UCAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES  TO   LOWELL. 

THE  selections  from  Lowell  are  intended  to  illustrate  his  different  styles 
of  writing.  For  a  general  introduction,  read  the  sketch  of  the  poet  in  Part 
First. 

WHAT  MR.  ROBINSON  THINKS. 

This  selection  is  from  the  first  series  of  the  "  Biglow  Papers."  It  illus- 
trates Lowell's  manner  and  power  as  a  satirist ;  and  to  use  the  words  of  a 
biographer,  it  "tickled  the  public  amazingly,"  especially  those  who  were  op- 
posed to  the  Mexican  War. 

As  we  learn  from  the  editorial  remarks  of  the  Rev.  Homer  Wilbur,  the 
satire  of  the  verses  "was  not  meant  to  have  any  personal,  but  only  a  general, 
application.  Of  the  gentleman  upon  whose  letter  they  were  intended  as  a 
commentary  Mr.  Biglow  had  never  heard,  till  he  saw  the  letter  itself.  The 
position  of  the  satirist  is  oftentimes  one  which  he  would  not  have  chosen, 
had  the  election  been  left  to  himself.  In  attacking  bad  principles,  he  is 
obliged  to  select  some  individual  who  has  made  himself  their  exponent,  and 
in  whom  they  are  impersonate." 

1.  George  N.  Briggs  ("1796-1861),  a  lawyer,  judge,  member  of  Congress, 
and  Whig  governor  of  Massachusetts  from  1844  to  1851. 

2.  Caleb  Gushing  (1800-1879),  a  lawyer,  statesman,  and  author  of  abil- 
ity and  learning.     In  politics  he  belonged  originally  to  the  Jeffersonian  Re- 
publican party,   then  turned  Whig,  and  afterwards,  with  President  Tyler, 
drifted  over  to  the  other  side.     He  advocated  the  Mexican  War  in  the  face  of 
strong  opposition  from  the  people  of  Massachusetts.     He  commanded  a  regi- 
ment in  the  war,  and  rose  to  the  rank  of  brigadier-general.    While  in  Mexico 
he  was  nominated  by  the  Democrats  as  governor  of  Massachusetts.     The 
satire  of  this  and  the  following  stanza  was  very  cutting. 

3.  Jaalam,  where  lived  Hosea  Biglow  and  Parson  Wilbur. 

4.  Per  contry  =  per  contra,  contrariwise. 

5.  Fee,faw,fum  =  nonsense. 

THE  PRESENT  CRISIS. 

This  poem  brings  Lowell  before  us  as  a  preacher  or  reformer.  It  is  writ- 
ten in  heroic  and  prophetic  mood.  What  it  lacks  in  polish,  it  gains  in  force. 
We  recognize  something  of  Emerson's  philosophy,  with  which,  as  we  have 


NOTES    TO   LOWELL.  455 

seen,  Lowell  was  much  impressed  in  early  manhood.  The  poem  was  written 
in  1845,  when  the  question  of  annexing  Texas  was  before  the  country.  This 
annexation  was  opposed  by  the  anti-slavery  party  on  the  ground  that  it  would 
strengthen  the  South. 

1.  This  is  Emersonian,  recognizing  the  presence  of  God  in  nature  and 
humanity. 

2.  This  line  contains  a  reference  to  the  electric  telegraph,  which  had 
been  put  into  operation  only  a  short  time  before  the  poem  was  written. 

3.  This  is  a  strong  assertion  of  the  solidarity  of  the  human  race,   a 
truth  not  yet  sufficiently  understood. 

4.  This  line  recalls  Bryant's  well-known  lines,  — 

"  Truth,  crushed  to  earth,  shall  rise  again ; 
The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers." 

All  our  great  singers  have  had  this  same  faith  in  the  power  of  truth. 

5.  A  reference  to  John  i.   i :     "  In  the  beginning  was  the  Word,  and 
the  Word  was  with  God,  and  the  Word  was  God." 

6.  The  oracle  at  Delphi  in  Greece  was  very  celebrated.    Consult  a  good 
encyclopaedia. 

7.  Cyclops,  meaning  round  eye,  was  the  name  anciently  applied  to  a 
fabulous  race  of  giants.     The  reference  throughout  this  stanza  is  to  Poly- 
phemus of  Sicily.     According  to  Homer,  when  Ulysses  landed  on  this  island, 
he  entered  the  cave  of  Polyphemus  with  twelve  companions,  of  whom  the 
gigantic  cannibal  devoured  six.     The  others  expected  the  same  fate ;   but 
their  cunning  leader  made  Polyphemus  drunk,  then  thrust  a  burning  stake 
into  his  single  eye,  and  thus  made  his  escape,  leaving  the  blinded  monster  to 
grope  about  in  darkness. 

8.  Can  you  name  any  of  the  heroes  referred  to  in  this  stanza? 

9.  Credo  =  creed  ;  so  called,  because  in  Latin  the  Apostles'  Creed  be- 
gins with  this  word,  meaning  "  I  believe."    The  idea  here  presented,  namely, 
that  the  creed  of  humanity  is  being  slowly  built  up  through  the  ages,  is  a 
grand  one. 

10.  The  meaning  of  this  line  may  be  given  as  follows :  "  Do  these  tracks, 
that  make  Plymouth  Rock  sublime,  turn  toward  the  Past  or  toward  the 
Future?  "  The  poet's  answer  is,  of  course,  "Toward  the  Future." 

THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL. 

The  following  note  was  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  published  in  1848: 
"According  to  the  mythology  of  the  Romancers,  the  San  Greal,  or  Holy 
Grail,  was  the  cup  out  of  which  Jesus  Christ  partook  of  the  last  supper  with 
his  disciples.  It  was  brought  into  England  by  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  re- 
mained there,  an  object  of  pilgrimage  and  adoration,  for  many  years  in  the 


456  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

keeping  of  his  lineal  descendants.  It  was  incumbent  upon  those  who  had 
charge  of  it  to  be  chaste  in  thought,  word,  and  deed ;  but,  one  of  the  keepers 
having  broken  this  condition,  the  Holy  Grail  disappeared.  From  that  time 
it  was  a  favorite  enterprise  of  the  Knights  of  Arthur's  court  to  go  in  search  of 
it.  Sir  Galahad  was  at  last  successful  in  rinding  it,  as  may  be  read  in  the 
seventeenth  book  of  the  Romance  of  King  Arthur.  Tennyson  has  made  Sir 
Galahad  the  subject  of  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  his  poems. 

"  The  plot  (if  I  may  give  that  name  to  anything  so  slight)  of  the  follow- 
ing poem  is  my  own  ;  and,  to  serve  its  purposes,  I  have  enlarged  the  circle 
of  competition  in  search  of  the  miraculous  cup  in  such  a  manner  as  to  include 
not  only  other  persons  than  the  heroes  of  the  Round  Table,  but  also  a  period 
of  time  subsequent  to  the  date  of  King  Arthur's  reign." 

1.  Note  how  each  of  the  two  Preludes  is  in  harmony  with  the  part  of 
the  story  that  follows.     Nature  is  brought  into  sympathy  with  Sir  Launfal. 
The  great  popularity  of  the  poem  is  due  in  no  small  degree  to  the  beautiful 
descriptions  of  nature  in  the  Preludes. 

2.  These  opening  lines  are  admirable,  both  for  the  picture  of  the  musing 
organist,  and  for  the  melody  of  the  stanza. 

3.  A  reference  to  the  well-known  and  beautiful  passage  in  Wordsworth's 

famous  Ode :  — 

"  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ; 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 
Upon  the  growing  boy." 

In  the  inspiring  lines  that  follow,  Lowell  teaches  that  heaven  is  continually 
about  us, — bending  over  our  manhood,  and  speaking  encouragement  to  old 
age. 

4.  Observe  the  contrast  in  this  stanza  between  "Earth  gets  its  price," 
with  the  instances  that  follow,  and  — 

"  'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away." 

5.  June  was  the  favorite  month  of  Lowell,  as  May  was  of  the  English 
poets.     In  the  poem,  "Under  the  Willows,"  which  gives  name  to  a  volume 
of  his  verse,  he  dwells  on  the  charm  of  June  at  considerable  length.     He 
says,  — 

"June  is  the  pearl  of  our  New  England  year;" 
but  — 

"  May  is  a  pious  fraud  of  the  almanac, 
A  ghastly  parody  of  real  spring." 

6.  This  figure  is  taken  from  the  musician,  who  places  his  ear  close  to  his 
violin  to  determine  whether  it  be  in  tune. 

7.  "  What  Lowell  loves  most  in  nature,"  says  Stedman,  "are  the  trees 
and  their  winged  inhabitants,  and  the  flowers  that  grow  untended.     The  sing- 


NOTES   TO  LOWELL.  457 

ing  of  birds,  as  we  learn  in  both  his  prose  and  verse,  enraptured  him."  In 
his  poem  "  An  Indian-Summer  Reverie,"  in  which  his  love  of  nature  is  most 
fully  set  forth,  we  find  the  following  exquisite  lines  :  — 

"Meanwhile  that  devil-may-care,  the  bobolink, 

Remembering  duty,  in  mid-quaver  stops 
Just  ere  he  sweeps  o'er  rapture's  tremulous  brink, 
And  twixt  the  windrows  most  demurely  drops." 

8.  This  line  illustrates  Lowell's  deep  religious  nature.    The  whole  poem, 
indeed,  is  suffused  with  religious  feeling.     Though  discarding  something  of 
the  creed  of  his  ancestry,  he  had  a  strong  faith  in  the  presence  and  love  of 
God. 

"  Through  ways  unlocked  for  and  through  many  lands, 
Far  from  the  rich  folds  built  with  human  hands, 
The  gracious  footprints  of  his  love  I  see." 

9.  Lowell  was  fond  of  the  dandelion,  which  gives  name  to  one  of  his 
finest  poems  :  — 

"  Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the  way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold." 

10.  Not  unlike  the  musing  organist,  the  poet  has  been  letting  his  fingers 
wander  as  they  list.     But  in  these  two  lines  his  theme  has  at  length  drawn 
near. 

11.  Note  the  solecism  in  the  use  of  " Ae. " 

12.  This   Prelude   describes  winter,  which  was  a  favorite  season  with 
Lowell.     In  "An  Indian-Summer  Reverie,"  there  are  beautiful  descriptions 
of  winter  scenes.    And  in  his  essay,  "  A  Good  Word  for  Winter,"  we  have  a 
delightful  presentation  of  its  varied  charms.     "For  my  part,"  he  says,  "I 
think  Winter  a  pretty  wide-awake  old  boy,  and  his  bluff  sincerity  and  hearty 
ways  are  more  congenial  to  my  mood,  and  more  wholesome  for  me,  than  any 
charms  of  which  his  rivals  are  capable." 

13.  In  a  letter  written  in  December,  1848,  Lowell  refers  to  "the  little 
brook  :  "  "  Last  night  I  walked  to  Watertown  over  the  snow,  with  the  new 
moon  before  me,  and  a  sky  exactly  like  that  in  Page's  evening  landscape. 
Orion  was  rising  behind  me  ;  and,  as  I  stood  on  the  hill  just  before  you  enter 
the  village,  the  stillness  of  the  fields  around  me  was  delicious,  broken  only  by 
the  tinkle  of  a  little  brook  which  runs  too  swiftly  for  Frost  to  catch  it.     My 
picture  of  the  brook  in  '  Sir  Launfal '  was  drawn  from  it." 

14.  This  stanza  exemplifies  a  fine  employment  of  the  fancy.    Its  separate 
pictures  should  be  clearly  brought  before  the  mind.     Explain  "  crypt,"  "  re- 
lief J*  and  "  arabesques." 

15.  Corbel '  =  a  short  piece  of  timber  or  other  material  Jutting  out  in  a 
wall  as  a  shoulder-piece. 


458  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

16.  Yule-log  =  Christmas-log  ;  that  is,  the  large  log  burned  in  the  fire- 
place on  Christmas  Eve.     The  custom  descended  from  heathen  times.     From 
Swedish  and  Danish  jul,  Christmas. 

17.  Beautiful  Gate  is  apparently  a  reference  to  Acts  iii.  2,  and  Josephus 
("The  Jewish  War,"  Book  V.,  chap,  v.,  3),  where  a  magnificent  column, 
fifty  cubits  in  height,  is  described  in  connection  with  a  gate  supposed  by  some 
to  be  the  "  gate  Beautiful  "  of  Scripture. 

18.  This  lesson  of  human  sympathy  and  love  is  one  that  Lowell  frequently 
enforces.     In  "A  Parable,"  Christ  is  made  to  say  to  the  chief  priests  and 
rulers  and  kings  :  — 

"  Have  ye  founded  your  thrones  and  altars,  then, 
On  the  bodies  and  souls  of  living  men  ? 
And  think  ye  that  building  shall  endure, 
Which  shelters  the  noble  and  crushes  the  poor?" 

19.  In  his  "  My  Garden  Acquaintances,"  Lowell  devotes  a  delightful 
paragraph  to  the  oriole,  or  hangbird,  mentioning  especially  its  nest  in  the 
elm. 


SELECTIONS  FROM   WHITTIER.  459 


XV. 
SELECTIONS    FROM   WHITTIER. 

MEMORIES. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  and  happy  girl, 

With  step  as  light  as  summer  air, 
Eyes  glad  with  smiles,  and  brow  of  pearl, 
Shadowed  by  many  a  careless  curl 

Of  unconfined  and  flowing  hair, 
A  seeming  child  in  everything, 

Save  thoughtful  brow  and  ripening  charms, 
As  Nature  wears  the  smile  of  Sprang 

When  sinking  into  Summer's  arms. 

A  mind  rejoicing  in  the  light 

Which  melted  through  its  graceful  bower, 
Leaf  after  leaf,  dew-moist  and  bright, 
And  stainless  in  its  holy  white, 

Unfolding  like  a  morning  flower :  * 
A  heart,  which,  like  a  fine-toned  lute, 

With  every  breath  of  feeling  woke, 
And,  even  when  the  tongue  was  mute, 

From  eye  and  lip  in  music  spoke. 

How  thrills  once  more  the  lengthening  chain 

Of  memory,  at  the  thought  of  thee  ! 
Old  hopes  which  long  in  dust  have  lain, 
Old  dreams,  come  thronging  back  again, 

And  boyhood  lives  again  in  me ; 
I  feel  its  glow  upon  my  cheek, 

Its  fulness  of  the  heart  is  mine, 
As  when  I  leaned  tjo  hear  thee  speak, 

Or  raised  my  doubtful  eye  to  thine. 


460  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

I  hear  again  thy  low  replies, 

I  feel  thy  arm  within  my  own, 
And  timidly  again  uprise 
The  fringed  lids  of  hazel  eyes, 

With  soft  brown  tresses  overblown. 
Ah  !  memories  of  sweet  summer  eves, 

Of  moonlit  wave  and  willowy  way, 
Of  stars  and  flowers,  and  dewy  leaves, 

And  smiles  and  tones  more  dear  than  they  ! 

Ere  this,  thy  quiet  eye  hath  smiled 

My  picture  of  thy  youth  to  see, 
When,  half  a  woman,  half  a  child, 
Thy  very  artlessness  beguiled, 

And  folly's  self  seemed  wise  in  thee ; 
I  too  can  smile,  when  o'er  that  hour 

The  lights  of  memory  backward  stream, 
Yet  feel  the  while  that  manhood's  power 

Is  vainer  than  my  boyhood's  dream. 

Years  have  passed  on,  and  left  their  trace, 

Of  graver  care  and  deeper  thought ; 
And  unto  me  the  calm,  cold  face 
Of  manhood,  and  to  thee  the  grace 

Of  woman's  pensive  beauty  brought. 
More  wide,  perchance,  for  blame  than  praise, 

The  school-boy's  humble  name  has  flown ; 
Thine,  in  the  green  and  quiet  ways 

Of  unobtrusive  goodness  known. 

And  wider  yet  in  thought  and  deed 

Diverge  our  pathways,  one  in  youth  ; 
Thine  the  Genevan's  sternest  creed,2 
While  answers  to  my  spirit's  need 

The  Derby  dalesman's  simple  truth.3 
For  thee,  the  priestly  rite  and  prayer, 

And  holy  day  and  solemn  psalm  ; 
For  me,  the  silent  reverence  where 

My  brethren  gather,  slow  and  calm. 


SELECTIONS  FKOM   WHITTIER.  461 

Yet  hath  thy  spirit  left  on  me 

An  impress  Time  hath  worn  not  out, 
And  something  of  myself  in  thee, 
A  shadow  from  the  past,  I  see, 

Lingering,  even  yet,  thy  way  about ; 
Not  wholly  can  the  heart  unlearn 

That  lesson  of  its  better  hours, 
Not  yet  hath  Time's  dull  footstep  worn 

To  common  dust  that  path  of  flowers. 

Thus,  while  at  times  before  our  eyes 

The  shadows  melt,  and  fall  apart, 
And,  smiling  through  them,  round  us  lies 
The  warm  light  of  our  morning  skies,  — 

The  Indian  Summer  of  the  heart ! 
In  secret  sympathies  of  mind, 

In  founts  of  feeling  which  retain 
Their  pure,  fresh  flow,  we  yet  may  find 

Our  early  dreams  not  wholly  vain ! 


THE   SHIP-BUILDERS. 

THE  sky  is  ruddy  in  the  east, 

The  earth  is  gray  below, 
And,  spectral  in  the  river-mist, 

The  ship's  white  timbers  show. 
Then  let  the  sounds  of  measured  stroke 

And  grating  saw  begin  ; 
The  broad-axe  to  the  gnarled  oak, 

The  mallet  to  the  pin  ! 

Hark  !  —  roars  the  bellows,  blast  on  blast, 

The  sooty  smithy  '  jars, 
And  fire-sparks,  rising  far  and  fast, 

Are  fading  with  the  stars. 
All  day  for  us  the  smith  shall  stand 

Beside  that  flashing  forge  ; 
All  day  for  us  his  heavy  hand 

The  groaning  anvil  scourge.2 


462  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

From  far-off  hills,  the  panting  team 

For  us  is  toiling  near ; 
For  us  the  raftsmen  down  the  stream 

Their  island  barges 3  steer. 
Rings  out  for  us  the  axe-man's  stroke 

In  forests  old  and  still,  — 
For  us  the  century-circled  oak 

Falls  crashing  down  his  hill. 

Up !' —  up  !  —  in  nobler  toil  than  ours 

No  craftsmen  bear  a  part : 
We  make  of  Nature's  giant  powers 

The  slaves  of  human  Art.4 
Lay  rib  to  rib,  and  beam  to  beam, 

And  drive  the  treenails 5  free ; 
Nor  faithless  joint  nor  yawning  seam 

Shall  tempt  the  searching  sea ! 

Where'er  the  keel  of  our  good  ship, 

The  sea's  rough  field  shall  plough,  — 
Where'er  her  tossing  spars6  shall  drip 

With  salt-spray  caught  below,  — 
That  ship  must  heed  her  master's  beck, 

Her  helm  obey  his  hand, 
And  seamen  tread  her  reeling  deck 

As  if  they  trod  the  land. 

Her  oaken  ribs  the  vulture-beak 

Of  Northern  ice  may  peel ; 
The  sunken  rock  and  coral  peak 

May  grate  along  her  keel ; 
And  know  we  well  the  painted  shell 

We  give  to  wind  and  wave, 
Must  float,  the  sailor's  citadel, 

Or  sink,  the  sailor's  grave  ! 

Ho!  —  strike  away  the  bars  and  blocks, 
And  set  the  good  ship  free ! 

Why  lingers  on  these  dusty  rocks 
The  young  bride  of  the  sea? 


SELECTIONS  FROM   WHITTIER.  463 

Look !  how  she  moves  adown  the  grooves, 

In  graceful  beauty  now ! 
How  lowly  on  the  breast  she  loves 

Sinks  down  her  virgin  prow ! 

God  bless  her  !  wheresoe'er  the  breeze 

Her  snowy  wing  shall  fan, 
Aside  the  frozen  7  Hebrides, 

Or  sultry  Hindostan! 
Where'er,  in  mart  or  on  the  main, 

With  peaceful  flag  unfurled, 
She  helps  to  wind  the  silken  chain 

Of  commerce  round  the  world ! 

Speed  on  the  ship  !  —  But  let  her  bear 

No  merchandise  of  sin, 
No  groaning  cargo  of  despair 

Her  roomy  hold  within  ; 
No  Lethean  drug  for  Eastern  lands, 

Nor  poison-draught  for  ours ; 
But  honest  fruits  of  toiling  hands 

And  Nature's  sun  and  showers.8 

Be  hers  the  Prairie's  golden  grain, 

The  Desert's  golden  sand, 
The  clustered  fruits  of  sunny  Spain, 

The  spice  of  Morning-land  ! 
Her  pathway  on  the  open  main 

May  blessings  follow  free, 
And  glad  hearts  welcome  back  again 

Her  white  sails  from  the  sea ! 


BARCLAY   OF   URY. 

UP  the  streets  of  Aberdeen,1 
By  the  kirk  and  college  green, 

Rode  the  Laird  of  Ury ; 
Close  behind  him,  close  beside, 
Foul  of  mouth  and  evil-eyed 

Pressed  the  mob  in  fury. 


464  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Flouted  him  the  drunken  churl, 
Jeered  at  him  the  serving-girl, 

Prompt  to  please  her  master ; 
And  the  begging  carlin,2  late 
Fed  and  clothed  at  Ury's  gate, 

Cursed  him  as  he  passed  her. 

Yet  with  calm  and  stately  mien, 
Up  the  streets  of  Aberdeen 

Came  he  slowly  riding : 
And,  to  all  he  saw  and  heard, 
Answering  not  with  bitter  word, 

Turning  not  for  chiding. 

Came  a  troop  with  broadswords  swinging, 
Bits  and  bridles  sharply  ringing, 

Loose  and  free  and  froward : 
Quoth  the  foremost,  "  Ride  him  down  ! 
Push  him  !  prick  him !  through  the  town 

Drive  the  Quaker  coward  ! " 

But  from  out  the  thickening  crowd 
Cried  a  sudden  voice  and  loud  : 

"  Barclay !  Ho !  a  Barclay !  " 
And  the  old  man  at  his  side 
Saw  a  comrade,  battle  tried, 

Scarred  and  sunburned  darkly  ; 

Who  with  ready  weapon  bare, 
Fronting  to  the  troopers  there, 

Cried  aloud :  "  God  save  us, 
Call  ye  coward  him  who  stood 
Ankle  deep  in  Lutzen's  3  blood, 

With  the  brave  Gustavus  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  need  thy  sword, 
Comrade  mine,"  said  Ury's  lord  ; 

"  Put  it  up,  I  pray  thee  : 
Passive  to  his  holy  will, 
Trust  I  in  my  Master  still, 

Even  though  he  slay  me. 


SELECTIONS  FROM   WIJITTIER.  465 

"  Pledges  of  thy  love  and  faith, 
Proved  on  many  a  field  of  death, 

Not  by  me  are  needed." 
Marvelled  much  that  henchman  bold, 
That  his  laird,  so  stout  of  old, 

Now  so  meekly  pleaded. 

"  Woe's  the  day  !  "  he  sadly  said, 
With  a  slowly  shaking  head, 

'    And  a  look  of  pity ; 
Dry's  honest  lord  reviled, 
Mock  of  knave  and  sport  of  child, 
In  his  own  good  city ! 

"  Speak  the  word,  and  master,  mine, 
As  we  charged  on  Tilly's  4  line, 

And  his  Walloon  5  lancers, 
Smiting  through  their  midst  we'll  teach 
Civil  look  and  decent  speech 

To  these  boyish  prancers  !  " 

"  Marvel  not,  mine  ancient  friend, 
Like  beginning,  like  the  end:" 

Quoth  the  Laird  of  Ury, 
"  Is  the  sinful  servant  more 
Than  his  gracious  Lord  who  bore 

Bonds  and  stripes  in  Jewry  ? 

"  Give  me  joy  that  in  his  name 
I  can  bear,  with  patient  frame, 

All  these  vain  ones  offer ; 
While  for  them  He  suffereth  long, 
Shall  I  answer  wrong  with  wrong, 

Scoffing  with  the  scoffer? 

"  Happier  I,  with  loss  of  all, 
Hunted,  outlawed,  held  in  thrall, 

With  few  friends  to  greet  me, 
Than  when  reeve  6  and  squire  were  seen, 
Riding  out  from  Aberdeen, 

With  bared  heads  to  meet  me. 


466  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

"  When  each  good  wife,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Blessed  me  as  I  passed  her  door ; 

And  the  snooded  7  daughter, 
From  her  casement  glancing  down, 
Smiled  on  him  who  bore  renown 

From  red  fields  of  slaughter. 

"Hard  to  feel  the  stranger's  scoff, 
Hard  the  old  friend's  falling  off, 

Hard  to  learn  forgiving : 
But  the  Lord  his  own  rewards, 
And  his  love  with  theirs  accords, 

Warm  and  fresh  and  living. 

"  Through  this  dark  and  stormy  night 
Faith  beholds  a  feeble  light 

Up  the  blackness  streaking ; 
Knowing  God's  own  time  u  best, 
In  a  patient  hope  I  rest 

For  the  full  day-breaking !  " 

So  the  Laird  of  Ury  said, 
Turning  slow  his  horse's  head 

Towards  the  Tolbooth  prison, 
Where,  through  iron  grates,  he  heard 
Poor  disciples  of  the  Word 

Preach  of  Christ  arisen ! 

Not  in  vain,  Confessor  old, 
'       Unto  us  the  tale  is  told 

Of  thy  day  of  trial ; 
Every  age  on  him,  who  strays 
From  its  broad  and  beaten  ways, 

Pours  its  sevenfold  vial. 

Happy  he  whose  inward  ear 
Angel  comfortings  can  hear, 

O'er  the  rabble's  laughter ; 
And  while  Hatred's  fagots  burn, 
Glimpses  through  the  smoke  discern 

Of  the  good  hereafter. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  WHITTIER.  467 

Knowing  this,  that  never  yet 
Share  of  Truth  was  vainly  set 

In  the  World's  wide  fallow ; 
After  hands  shall  sow  the  seed, 
After  hands  from  hill  and  mead 

Reap  the  harvests  yellow. 

Thus,  with  somewhat  of  the  Seer, 
Must  the  moral  pioneer 

From  the  Future  borrow ; 
Clothe  the  waste  with  dreams  of  grain, 
And,  on  midnight's  sky  of  rain, 
Paint  the  golden  morrow  ! 


MAUD   MULLER. 

MAUD  MULLER  on  a  summer's  day 
Raked  the  meadow  sweet  with  hay. 

Beneath  her  torn  hat  glowed  the  wealth 
Of  simple  beauty  and  rustic  health. 

Singing,  she  wrought,  and  her  merry  glee 
The  mock-bird  echoed  from  his  tree. 

But  when  she  glanced  to  the  far-off  town, 
White  from  its  hill-slope  looking  down, 

The  sweet  song  died,  and  a  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  filled  her  breast, 

A  wish,  that  she  hardly  dared  to  own, 
For  something  better  than  she  had  known. 

The  Judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane, 
Smoothing  his  horse's  chestnut  mane. 

He  drew  his  bridle  in  the  shade 

Of  the  apple-trees,  to  greet  the  maid, 


468  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

And  asked  a  draught  from  the  spring  that  flowed 
Through  the  meadow  across  the  road. 

She  stooped  where  the  cool  spring  bubbled  up, 
And  filled  for  him  her  small  tin  cup, 

And  blushed  as  she  gave  it,  looking  down 
On  her  feet  so  bare,  and  her  tattered  gown. 

"  Thanks !  "  said  the  Judge  ;  "  a  sweeter  draught 
From  a  fairer  hand  was  never  quaffed." 

He  spoke  of  the  grass  and  flowers  and  trees, 
Of  the  singing  birds  and  the  humming  bees  ; 

Then  talked  of  the  haying,  and  wondered  whether 
The  cloud  in  the  west  would  bring  foul  weather. 

And  Maud  forgot  her  brier-torn  gown, 
And  her  graceful  ankles  bare  and  brown ; 

And  listened,  while  a  pleased  surprise 
Looked  from  her  long-lashed  hazel  eyes. 

At  last,  like  one  who  for  delay 
Seeks  a  vain  excuse,  he  rode  away. 

Maud  Muller  looked  and  sighed  :  "  Ah  me ! 
That  I  the  Judge's  bride  might  be  ! 

"  He  would  dress  me  up  in  silks  so  fine, 
And  praise  and  toast  me  at  his  wine. 

"  My  father  should  wear  a  broadcloth  coat ; 
My  brother  should  sail  a  painted  boat. 

"  I'd  dress  my  mother  so  grand  and  gay, 
And  the  baby  should  have  a  new  toy  each  day. 

"  And  Fd  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor, 
And  all  should  bless  me  who  left  our  door." 


SELECTIONS  FROM   WHITTIER.  469 

The  Judge  looked  back  as  he  climbed  the  hill, 
And  saw  Maud  Muller  standing  still. 

' '  A  form  more  fair,  a  face  more  sweet 
Ne'er  hath  it  been  my  lot  to  meet.  • 

"  And  her  modest  answer  and  graceful  air 
Show  her  wise  and  good  as  she  is  fair. 

"  Would  she  were  mine,  and  I  to-day, 
Like  her,  a  harvester  of  hay  : 

"  No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
Nor  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues, 

"  But  low  of  cattle  and  song  of  birds, 
And  health  and  quiet  and  loving  words." 

But  he  thought  of  his  sisters  proud  and  cold, 
And  his  mother  vain  of  her  rank  and  gold. 

So,  closing  his  heart,  the  Judge  rode  on, 
And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone. 

But  the  lawyers  smiled  that  afternoon, 
When  he  hummed  in  court  an  old  love-tune ; 

And  the  young  girl  mused  beside  the  well 
Till  the  rain  on  the  unraked  clover  fell. 

He  wedded  a  wife  of  richest  dower, 
Who  lived  for  fashion  as  he  for  power. 

Yet  oft,  in  his  marble  hearth's  bright  glow, 
He  watched  a  picture  come  and  go ; 

And  sweet  Maud  Muller's  hazel  eyes 
Looked  out  in  their  innocent  surprise. 

Oft,  when  the  wine  in  his  glass  was  red, 
He  longed  for  the  wayside  well  instead ; 


470  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

And  closed  his  eyes  on  his  garnished  rooms 
To  dream  of  meadows  and  clover-blooms. 

And  the  proud  man  sighed,  with  a  secret  pain, 
"Ah,  that  t  were  free  again ! 

"  Free  as  when  I  rode  that  day, 

Where  the  barefoot  maiden  raked  her  hay." 

She  wedded  a  man  unlearned  and  poor, 
And  many  children  played  round  her  dooV. 

But  care  and  sorrow,  and  childbirth  pain, 
Left  their  traces  on  heart  and  brain. 

And  oft,  when  the  summer  sun  shone  hot 
On  the  new-mown  hay  in  the  meadow  lot, 

And  she  heard  the  little  spring  brook  fall 
Over  the  roadside,  through  the  wall, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree  again 
She  saw  a  rider  draw  his  rein. 

And,  gazing  down  with  timid  grace, 
She  felt  his  pleased  eyes  read  her  face. 

Sometimes  her  narrow  kitchen  walls 
Stretched  away  into  stately  halls ; 

The  weary  wheel  to  a  spinnet  *  turned, 
The  tallow  candle  an  astral 2  burned, 

And  for  him  who  sat  by  the  chimney  lug, 
Dozing  and  grumbling  o'er  pipe  and  mug, 

A  manly  form  at  her  side  she  saw, 
And  joy  was  duty  and  love  was  law. 

Then  she  took  up  her  burden  of  life  again, 
Saying  only,  "  It  might  have  been." 


SELECTIONS  FROM   WHITTIER.  471 

Alas  for  maiden,  alas  for  Judge, 

For  rich  repiner  and  household  drudge 

God  pity  them  both !  and  pity  us  all, 
Who  vainly  the  dreams  of  youth  recall. 

For  of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 

The  saddest  are  these  :  "It  might  have  been ! " 

Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes  ; 

And,  in  the  hereafter,  angels  may 
Roll  the  stone  from  its  grave  away ! 


TAULER. 

TAULER,'  the  preacher,  walked,  one  autumn  day, 
Without  the  walls  of  Strasburg  by  the  Rhine, 
Pondering  the  solemn  Miracle  of  Life  ; 
As  one  who,  wandering  in  a  starless  night, 
Feels,  momently,  the  jar  of  unseen  waves, 
And  hears  the  thunder  of  an  unknown  sea, 
Breaking  along  an  unimagined  shore. 

And  as  he  walked  he  prayed.     Even  the  same 
Old  prayer  with  which,  for  half  a  score  of  years, 
Morning,  and  noon,  and  evening,  lip  and  heart 
Had  groaned  :  "  Have  pity  upon  me,  Lord  ! 
Thou  seest,  while  teaching  others,  I  am  blind. 
Send  me  a  man  who  can  direct  my  steps ! " 

Then,  as  he  mused,  he  heard  along  his  path 
A  sound  as  of  an  old  man's  staff  among 
The  dry,  dead  linden-leaves  ;  and,  looking  up, 
He  saw  a  stranger,  weak,  and  poor,  and  old. 

"  Peace  be  unto  thee,  father  !"  Tauler  said, 
"  God  give  thee  a  good  day  ! "     The  old  man  raised 
Slowly  his  calm  blue  eyes.     "  I  thank  thee,  son; 
But  all  my  days  are  good,  and  none  are  ill." 


472  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Wondering  thereat,  the  preacher  spake  again, 

"  God  give  thee  happy  life."     The  old  man  smiled, 

"  I  never  am  unhappy." 

Tauler  laid 

His  hand  upon  the  stranger's  coarse  gray  sleeve : 
"  Tell  me,  O  father,  what  thy  strange  words  mean. 
Surely  man's  days  are  evil,  and  his  life 
Sad  as  the  grave  it  leads  to."     "  Nay,  my  son, 
Our  times  are  in  God's  hands,  and  all  our  days 
Are  as  our  needs ;  for  shadow  as  for  sun, 
For  cold  as  heat,  for  want  as  wealth,  alike 
Our  thanks  are  due,  since  that  is  best  which  is ; 
And  that  which  is  not,  sharing  not  his  life, 
Is  evil  only  as  devoid  of  good. 
And  for  the  happiness  of  which  I  spake, 
I  find  it  in  submission  to  his  will, 
And  calm  trust  in  the  holy  Trinity 
Of  Knowledge,  Goodness,  and  Almighty  Power." 
Silently  wondering,  for  a  little  space, 
Stood  the  great  preacher,  then  he  spake  as  one 
Who,  suddenly  grappling  with  a  haunting  thought 
Which  long  has  followed,  whispering  through  the  dark 
Strange  terrors,  drags  it,  shrieking,  into  light ; 
"  What  if  God's  will  consign  thee  hence  to  Hell  ? " 

"Then,"  said  the  stranger  cheerily,  "  be  it  so. 
What  Hell  may  be  I  know  not ;  this  I  know,  — 
I  cannot  lose  the  presence  of  the  Lord : 
One  arm,  Humility,  takes  hold  upon 
His  dear  Humanity  ;  the  other,  Love, 
Clasps  his  Divinity.     So  where  I  go 
He  goes ;  and  better  fire-walled  Hell  with  Him 
Than  golden-gated  Paradise  without." 

Tears  sprang  in  Tauler's  eyes.     A  sudden  light, 
Like  the  first  ray  which  fell  on  chaos,  clove 
Apart  the  shadow  wherein  he  had  walked 
Darkly  at  noon.     And,  as  the  strange  old  man 
Went  his  slow  way,  until  his  silver  hair 


SELECTIONS  FROM   WH2TTIER.  4/3 

Set  like  the  white  moon  where  the  hills  of  vine 
Slope  to  the  Rhine,  he  bowed  his  head  and  said : 
"My  prayer  is  answered.     God  hath  sent  the  man 
Long  sought,  to  teach  me,  by  his  simple  trust, 
Wisdom  the  weary  schoolmen  never  knew." 

So,  entering  with  a  changed  and  cheerful  step 

The  city  gates,  he  saw,  far  down  the  street, 

A  mighty  shadow  break  the  light  of  noon, 

Which  tracing  backward  till  its  airy  lines 

Hardened  to  stony  plinths,2  he  raised  his  eyes 

O'er  broad  fagade  and  lofty  pediment,3 

O'er  architrave  4  and  frieze  and  sainted  niche, 

Up  the  stone  lace-work  chiselled  by  the  wise 

Ervvin  of  Steinbach,5  dizzily  up  to  where 

In  the  noon-brightness  the  great  Minsters  tower,6 

Jewelled  with  sunbeams  on  its  mural  crown, 

Rose  like  a  visible  prayer.     "  Behold  !  "  he  said, 

"  The  stranger's  faith  made  plain  before  mine  eyes. 

As  yonder  tower  outstretches  to  the  earth 

The  dark  triangle  of  its  shade  alone 

When  the  clear  day  is  shining  on  its  top, 

So,  darkness  in  the  pathway  of  Man's  life 

Is  but  the  shadow  of  God's  providence, 

By  the  great  Sun  of  Wisdom  cast  thereon ; 

And  what  is  dark  below  is  light  in  Heaven." 


4/4  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 


NOTES   TO   WHITTIER. 
FOR  a  general  introduction  to  the  selections,  see  the  sketch  of  Whittier. 

MEMORIES. 

There  is  great  tenderness  in  this  poem.     It  points  to  a  romance  that  left 
a  tinge  of  sadness  on  the  poet's  life. 

1.  This  sentence  is  neither  felicitous  nor  clear.     The  poet  was  encum- 
bered by  the  difficulties  of  his  metre  and  rhyme.     "Leaf  after  leaf,"  etc., 
describes  the  manner  in  which  the  mind  unfolded  "  like  a  morning  flower." 

2.  The  Genevan  is  John  Calvin.     His  theological  system  is  known  as 
Calvinism.    Its  distinguishing  features  are  :  I.  Original  sin,  or  total  depravity  ; 
2.  Predestination  ;  3.  Particular  redemption;  4.  Effectual  calling ;  and  5.  Per- 
severance of  the  saints.     To  the  Quaker  poet  several  of  these  doctrines  ap- 
peared "stern." 

3.  The  Derby  dalesman  is  George  Fox  (born  in  England  in  1624),  the 
founder  of  the  sect  of  Friends,  or  Quakers.     The  most  distinctive  point  of 
doctrine  is  their  belief  in  the  immediate  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  worship 
and  all  other  religious  acts. 

THE  SHIP-BUILDERS. 

This  poem  is  one  of  the  "Songs  of  Labor."     The  object  of  these  songs, 
as  stated  in  the  dedication,  is  to  show :  — 

"The  unsung  beauty  hid  life's  common  things  below." 

They  were  intended  to  reflect  the  life  of   New  England,  but  they  are 
equally  applicable  to  the  same  labors  in  all  parts  of  our  country. 

1.  Smithy  =  the  shop  of  a  smith.     This  suggests  Longfellow's  lines:  — 

"  Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree 
The  village  smithy  stands." 

2.  Scourge  and  forge  will  serve  to  illustrate  Whittier's  defective  rhyme. 
There  are  several  other  instances  in  this  poem  ;  point  them  out. 

3.  Explain  the  phrase  island  barges. 

4.  Define  Art  as  here  used. 

5.  Treenail^  a  long  wooden  pin  used  in  fastening  the  planks  of  a  ship 
to  the  timbers. 


NOTES    TO    WHITTIER. 


475 


6.  Spars  is  a  general  term  for  mast,  yard,  boom,  and  gaff. 

7.  This  adjective  is  not  well  chosen.     "  Enjoying  the  benefit  of  the  Gulf 
Stream,  the  climate  of  the  Hebrides  is  peculiarly  mild.     Snow  seldom  lies 
long  on  the  sea-shores  or  low  grounds,  and  in  sheltered  spots  tender  plants  are 
not  nipped  by  winter  frosts." 

8.  In  this  stanza  we  discern  the  uncompromising  moralist,  who  condemns 
everything  that  debases  society, — the  slave-trade,  the  opium  traffic,  and  the 
liquor  curse. 

BARCLAY  OF  URY. 

In  reference  to  this  poem,  Whittier  has  the  following  note  :  "  Among  the 
earliest  converts  to  the  doctrines  of  Friends  in  Scotland  was  Barclay  of  Ury, 
an  old  and  distinguished  soldier,  who  had  fought  under  Gustavus  Adolphus  in 
Germany.  As  a  Quaker,  he  became  the  object  of  persecution  and  abuse 
at  the  hands  of  the  magistrates  and  the  populace.  None  bore  the  indignities 
of  the  mob  with  greater  patience  and  nobleness  of  soul  than  this  once  proud 
gentleman  and  soldier.  One  of  his  friends,  on  an  occasion  of  uncommon 
rudeness,  lamented  that  he  should  be  treated  so  harshly  in  his  old  age  who 
had  been  so  honored  before.  '  I  find  more  satisfaction,'  said  Barclay,  « as  well 
as  honor,  in  being  thus  insulted  for  my  religious  principles,  than  when,  a  few 
years  ago,  it  was  usual  for  the  magistrates,  as  I  passed  the  city  of  Aberdeen, 
to  meet  me  on  the  road  and  conduct  me  to  public  entertainment  in  their  hall, 
and  then  escort  me  out  again,  to  gain  my  favor.' " 

1.  Aberdeen  is  the  chief  city  and  seaport  in  the  north  of  Scotland,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river  Dee.     It  is  the  seat  of  Marischal  College,  referred  to  in 
the  next  line.     In  1860  this  college,  united  with  King's  College,  became  the 
University  of  Aberdeen. 

2.  Carlin=  a  stout  old  woman  ;  a  Scottish  word. 

3.  Liitzen  is  a  small  town  in  Saxony.     At  this  point  a  great  battle  was 
fought  in  1632  between  Gustavus  Adolphus  and  Wallenstein.     Victory  finally 
remained  with  the  Swedes. 

4.  Tilly  was  one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
During  the  Thirty  Years'  War  he  was  victor  in  thirty-six  battles  ;  but  finally  he 
met  Gustavus  Adolphus,  by  whom  he  was  defeated. 

5.  The  Walloons  are  descendants  of  the  old  Gallic  Belgse,  "who  held 
their  ground  among  the  Ardennes  Mountains  when  the  rest  of  Gaul  was  over- 
run by  the  German  conquerors."     They  number  about  two  millions  in  Bel- 
gium and  Holland. 

6.  Reeve  =  an  officer,  steward.     A.  S.  gerefa,  steward.     Obsolete  except 
in  compounds;  as,  shire-m-w,  now  written  sheriff. 

7.  Snooded  =  wearing  a  snood  ;  that  is,  a  band  which  binds  the  hair  of  a 
young,  unmarried  woman.     (Scot.) 


476  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


MAUD  MULLER. 

This  is,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  of  Whittier's  poems.  It  is  remarkably 
clear  throughout.  It  illustrates  the  thoughtful  moral  lone  of  the  poet;  and 
the  last  stanzas,  with  their  touching  sadness,  seem  to  have  sprung  from  his 
own  experience.  This  fact  gives  them  an  additional  interest.  The  poet  has 
been  mildly  criticised  for  calling  the  heroine,  a  plain  New  England  country 
girl,  by  the  name  of  Maud ;  but  it  is  not  easy  to  think  of  any  other  name  that 
would  have  suited  better. 

1.  Spinnet  —  z.  musical  instrument  resembling  the  harpsichord,  but  of 
smaller  size  and  lighter  tone. 

2.  Astral '=  astral  lamp  ;  a  lamp  with  a  ring-shaped  reservoir  so  placed 
that  its  shadow  does  not  fall  directly  below  the  flame. 

TAULER. 

"The  religious  element  in  Whittier's  poems,"  says  Underwood,  "is 
something  vital  and  inseparable.  The  supremacy  of  moral  ideas  is  indeed  in- 
culcated by  almost  all  great  poets,  and  at  no  time  more  than  in  the  present. 
.A  nd  in  almost  all  modern  verse  the  filial  relation  of  man  to  his  Creator,  and 
the  immanence  of  the  Spirit  in  the  human  heart,  are  at  least  tacitly  recognized. 
The  leading  poets  of  America  are,  one  and  all,  reverent  in  feeling  and  tone. 
But  it  is  quite  evident  that  Whittier  alone  is  religious  in  a  high  and  inward 
s^nse."  His  deep  religious  feeling  is  exhibited  in  this  poem. 

1.  John  Tattler  (1290-1361)  was  born  at  Strasburg,  where  he  spent 
most  of  his  life.     He  was  one  of  the  most  prominent  representatives  of  medi- 
a/val  German  mysticism,  and  one  of  the  greatest  preachers  of  his  time.     His 
words  "  came  home  to  the  heart  of  both  high  and  low,  spreading  light  every- 
where, and  justly  procuring  for  him  the  title  of  doctor  ilhtminatus." 

2.  Plinth  —  "  the  square  member  at  the  bottom  of  the  base  of  a  column. 
Also  the  plain  projecting  band  forming  a  base  of  a  wall."  —  CHAMBERS. 

3.  Pediment  =  the  triangular  ornamental  space  over  a  portico,  or  over 
doors,  windows,  and  gates. 

4.  Architrave  =  the  part  of  an  entablature  that  rests  immediately  on  the 
column.     Above  the  architrave  is  the  frieze.     See  Dictionary  for  illustration. 

5.  Errvin  of  Sleinbach  was  one  of  the  architects  of  the  Strasburg  Cathe- 
dral, which  was  four  centuries  in  building. 

6.  This  tower  reaches  to  a  height  of  465  feet. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HOLMES.  4/7 


XVI. 

SELECTIONS   FROM   HOLMES. 
OLD   IRONSIDES.1 

AY,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ;  — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more  I 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ;  — 
The  harpies  2  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea. 

O  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave ; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms,3 

The  lightning  and  the  gale. 


4/8  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


THE   LAST   LEAF. 

I  SAW  him  once  before, 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 

The  pavement  stones  resound, 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  Crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad  and  wan, 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom, 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 

My  grandmamma  has  said  — 
Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 

Long  ago  — 

That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow. 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 
Like  a  staff, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HOLMES.  479 

And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack 
In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here ; 

But  the  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring, 

Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 


THE   HEIGHT  OF  THE   RIDICULOUS. 

I  WROTE  some  lines  once  on  a  time 

In  wondrous  merry  mood, 
And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 

They  were  exceeding  good. 

They  were  so  queer,  so  very  queer, 

I  laughed  as  I  would  die ; 
Albeit,  in  the  general  way, 

A  sober  man  am  I. 

I  called  my  servant,  and  he  came ; 

How  kind  it  was  of  him 
To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me, 

He  of  the  mighty  limb  ! 

"  These  to  the  printer,"  I  exclaimed, 
And,  in  my  humorous  way, 

I  added  (as  a  trifling  jest) 

"There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay." 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

He  took  the  paper,  and  I  watched, 

And  saw  him  peep  within ; 
At  the  first  line  he  read,  his  face 

Was  all  upon  the  grin. 

He  read  the  next ;  the  grin  grew  broad, 

And  shot  from  ear  to  ear ; 
He  read  the  third  ;  a  chuckling  noise 

I  now  began  to  hear. 

The  fourth  ;  he  broke  into  a  roar ; 

The  fifth  ;  his  waistband  split ; 
The  sixth  ;  he  burst  five  buttons  off, 

And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 

Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eye, 
I  watched  that  wretched  man ; 

And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can. 


THE   CHAMBERED   NAUTILUS. 

THIS  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  '  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  2  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 3 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed,— 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed  ! 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HOLMES,  481 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil ; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door,4 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap  forlorn ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  5  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings :  — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 

Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea ! 


CONTENTMENT. 

LITTLE  I  ask  ;  my  wants  are  few ; 

I  only  wish  a  hut  of  stone, 
(A  very  plain  brown  stone  will  do,) 

That  I  may  call  my  own  ;  — 
And  close  at  hand  is  such  a  one, 
In  yonder  street  that  fronts  the  sun. 

Plain  food  is  quite  enough  for  me ; 

Three  courses  are  as  good  as  ten  ; 
If  Nature  can  subsist  on  three, 

Thank  Heaven  for  three.  Amen  ! 
I  always  thought  cold  victual  nice;  — 
My  choice  would  be  vanilla-ice. 


482  AMERICAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

I  care  not  much  for  gold  or  land  ;  — 

Give  me  a  mortgage  here  and  there,  — 

Some  good  bank-stock,  some  note  of  hand, 
Or  trifling  railroad  share  ;  — 

I  only  ask  that  Fortune  send 

A  little  more  than  I  shall  spend. 

Honors  are  silly  toys,  I  know, 

And  titles  are  but  empty  names  ;  — 

I  would,  perhaps,  be  Plenipo,1  — 
But  only  near  St.  James  :  2  — 

I'm  very  sure  I  should  not  care 

To  fill  our  Gubernator's  chair. 

Jewels  are  bawbles  ;  'tis  a  sin 

To  care  for  such  unfruitful  things  ;  — 

One  good-sized  diamond  in  a  pin,  — 
Some,  not  so  large,  in  rings,  — 

A  ruby,  and  a  pearl,  or  so, 

Will  do  for  me ;  —  I  laugh  at  show. 

My  dame  should  dress  in  cheap  attire ; 

(Goo'd,  heavy  silks  are  never  dear)  ;  — 
I  own  perhaps  I  might  desire 

Some  shawls  of  true  Cashmere,  — 
Some  marrowy  crapes  of  China  silk, 
Like  wrinkled  skins  on  scalded  milk. 

I  would  not  have  the  horse  I  drive 

So  fast  that  folks  must  stop  and  stare : 

An  easy  gait  —  two,  forty-five  — 
Suits  me  ;  I  do  not  care ;  — 

Perhaps,  for  just  a  single  spurt, 

Some  seconds  less  would  do  no  hurt  3 

Of  pictures,  I  should  like  to  own 

Titians  4  and  Raphaels  5  three  or  four,  - 

I  love  so  much  their  style  and  tone,  — 
One  Turner,6  and  no  more, 

(A  landscape,  —  foreground  golden  dirt,  — 

The  sunshine  painted  with  a  squirt). 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HOLMES.  483 

Of  books  but  few,  —  some  fifty  score 

For  daily  use,  and  bound  for  wear ; 
The  rest  upon  an  upper  floor ;  — 

Some  little  luxury  there 
Of  red  morocco's  gilded  gleam, 
And  vellum  rich  as  country  cream. 

Busts,  cameos,  gems,  —  such  things  as  these, 

Which  others  often  show  for  pride, 
/  value  for  their  power  to  please, 

And  selfish  churls  deride ;  — 
One  Stradivarius,7  I  confess, 
Two  Meerschaums,  I  would  fain  possess. 

Wealth's  wasteful  tricks  I  will  not  learn, 
Nor  ape  the  glittering  upstart  fool ;  — 

Shall  not  carved  tables  serve  my  turn, 
But  all  must  be  of  buhl  ?  8 

Give  grasping  pomp  its  double  share,  — 

I  ask  but  one  recumbent  chair. 

Thus  humble  let  me  live  and  die, 

Nor  long  for  Midas1 9  golden  touch ; 
If  Heaven  more  generous  gifts  deny, 

I  shall  not  miss  them  much, — 
Too  grateful  for  the  blessing  lent 
Of  simple  tastes  and  mind  content. 


THE   DEACON'S   MASTERPIECE; 
OR,  THE  WONDERFUL  "ONE-Hoss  SHAY." 

A   LOGICAL   STORY. 

HAVE  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 
That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 
It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day,      . 
And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it  —  ah,  but  stay, 
I'll  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay, 


484  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 
Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits,  — 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five, 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive,  — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive ; 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake-day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 

There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot,  — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 

In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace,  —  lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will,  — 

Above  or  below,  within  or  without,  — 

And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

That  a  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore,  (as  Deacons  do, 
With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "I  tell  yeoit"') 
He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 
V  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ; 
It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldn't  break  daown : 
"Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  t's  mighty  plain 
That  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain  ; 
'n'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jist 
T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 
Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 
That  couldn'i  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke,  — 
That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills  ; 
He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HOLMES.  485 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees, 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum,"  — 

Last  of  its  timber,  —  they  couldn't  sell  'em, 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide  ; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through."  — 

"  There  ! "  said  the  Deacon,  "  naow  she'll  dew ! " 

Do  !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren  —  where  were  they? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ;  —  it  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten  ;  — 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge"  they  called  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came;  — 
Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  came  fifty,  and  FIFTY-FIVE. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 


486  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large ; 

Take  it.  —  You're  welcome.  —  No  extra  charge.) 


FIRST  OF  NOVEMBER,  — the  Earthquake-day- 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay, 

A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  couldn't  be,  —  for  the  Deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 

That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills. 

And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 

And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 

And  the  whipple-tree  neither  less  nor  more, 

And  the  back-crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 

And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 

And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt, 

In  another  hour  it  will  be  -worn  out! 


First  of  November,  'Fifty-five ! 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way ! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 

"  Huddup  !  "  said  the  parson.  —  Off  went  they. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text,  — 

Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 

At  what  the  —  Moses  —  was  coming  next. 

All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 

Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 

—  First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill,  — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 

At  half  past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock,  — 
Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 

—  What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground ! 


SELECTIONS  FROM  HOLMES.  487 

You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce, 
How  it  went  to  pieces  .ill  at  once,  — 
All  at  once,  and  nothing  first, — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 
Logic  is  logic.     That's  all  I  say. 


488  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


NOTES  TO   HOLMES. 
FOR  a  general  introduction  to  the  selections,  see  the  sketch  of  Holmes. 

OLD  IRONSIDES. 

The  interesting  circumstances  connected  with  the  publication  of  this  poem 
are  mentioned  in  the  sketch  of  Holmes. 

1 .  This  title  was  popularly  conferred  on  the  frigate  Constitution  in  rec- 
ognition of  her  numerous  victories.     She  was  launched  at  Boston  in  1797. 
She  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  bombardment  of  Tripoli  in   1804,  and  es- 
pecially distinguished  herself  in  the  War  of  1812.     "  In  the  course  of  two 
years  and  nine  months,"  says  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  "this  ship  had  been 
in  three  actions,  had  been  twice  critically  chased,  and  had  captured  five  ves- 
sels of  war.      In  all  her  service,  her  good  fortune  was  remarkable.     She  never 
was  dismasted,  never  got  ashore,  and  scarcely  ever  suffered  any  of  the  usual 
accidents  of  the  sea.     Though  so  often  in  battle,  no  very  serious  slaughter 
ever  took  place  on  board  her." 

2.  Harpy  =  in  mythology  a  fabulous  winged  monster,  ravenous  and  filthy, 
having  the  face  of  a  woman  and  the  body  of  a  vulture,  with  long  claws,  and 
with  a  face  pale  with  hunger.     Hence,  one  that  is  rapacious  or  ravenous  ;  a 
plunderer. 

3.  God  of  storms  =  Neptune,  the  god  of  the  sea.     The  symbol  of  his 
power  was  a  trident,  with  which  he  raised  and  stilled  storms. 

THE  LAST  LEAF. 

This  poem  illustrates  the  mingled  humor  and  pathos  of  Holmes.  "  Is 
there  in  all  literature,"  queries  his  biographer,  Morse,  "  a  lyric  in  which  droll- 
ery, passing  nigh  unto  ridicule,  yet  stopping  short  of  it,  and  sentiment  becom- 
ing pathos,  yet  not  too  profound,  are  so  exquisitely  intermingled  as  in  '  The 
Last  Leaf '  ?  To  spill  into  the  mixture  the  tiniest  fraction  of  a  drop  too  much 
of  either  ingredient  was  to  ruin  all.  How  skilfully,  how  daintily,  how  uner- 
ringly Dr.  Holmes  compounded  it,  all  readers  of  English  know  well.  It  was 
a  light  and  trifling  bit,  if  you  will ;  but  how  often  has  it  made  the  smile  and 
the  tear  dispute  for  mastery,  in  a  rivalry  which  is  never  quite  decided !  " 


NOTES   TO  HOLMES.  489 


THE  HEIGHT  OF  THE  RIDICULOUS. 

The  poet's  comic  vein  reaches  its  climax  in  this  bit  of  extravaganza. 
There  are  several  personal  touches  in  it.  His  feelings  toward  the  public  were 
so  kindly  that  he  always  expected  his  productions  to  meet  with  a  favorable 
reception.  He  had  a  good  opinion  of  these  lines :  — 

"  And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 
They  were  exceeding  good." 

In  the  third  stanza  there  is  a  reference  to  his  slight  build. 


THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS. 

This  selection,  as  well  as  the  remaining  ones,  is  taken  from  "  The  Auto- 
crat of  the  Breakfast  Table."  It  is  there  introduced  as  follows:  "  Did  I  not 
say  to  you  a  little  while  ago  that  the  universe  swam  in  an  ocean  of  similitudes 
and  analogies?  I  will  not  quote  Cowley,  or  Burns,  or  Wordsworth,  just  now, 
to  show  you  what  thoughts  were  suggested  to  them  by  the  simplest  natural 
objects,  such  as  a  flower  or  a  leaf;  but  I  will  read  you  a  few  lines,  if  you  do 
not  object,  suggested  by  looking  at  a  section  of  one  of  those  chambered  shells 
to  which  is  given  the  name  of  Pearly  Nautilus.  We  need  not  trouble  ourselves 
about  the  distinction  between  this  and  the  Paper  Nautilus,  the  Argonauta  of 
the  ancients.  The  name  applied  to  both  shows  that  each  has  long  been  com- 
pared to  a  ship,  as  you  may  see  more  fully  in  Webster's  Dictionary,  or  the 
'Encyclopaedia,'  to  which  he  refers.  If  you  will  look  into  Roget's  Bridge- 
water  Treatise,  you  will  find  a  figure  of  one  of  these  shells  and  a  section  of  it. 
The  last  will  show  you  the  series  of  enlarging  compartments  successively  dwelt 
in  by  the  animal  that  inhabits  the  shell,  which  is  built  in  a  widening  spiral. 
Can  you  find  no  lesson  in  this  ?  " 

"The  Chambered  Nautilus"  was  a  favorite  poem  with  Holmes.  "In 
writing  the  poem,"  he  says,  "  I  was  filled  with  a  better  feeling  —  the  highest 
state  of  mental  exaltation  and  the  most  crystalline  clairvoyance,  as  it  seemed 
to  me  —  I  mean  that  lucid  vision  of  one's  thought,  and  of  all  forms  of  expres- 
sion which  will  be  at  once  precise  and  musical,  which  is  the  poet's  special 
gift,  however  large  or  small  in  amount  or  value." 

This  poem  is  the  high-water  mark  of  the  author's  poetic  achievement.  In 
this  single  flight  he  has  not  been  often  surpassed  in  America. 

I .  Siren  =  one  of  three  damsels,  according  to  mythology,  said  to  dwell 
near  the  island  of  Caprese,  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  to  sing  with  such  sweet- 
ness that  they  who  sailed  by  forgot  their  country,  and  died  in  an  ecstasy  of 
delight. 


490  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

2.  Sea-maid =  mermaid,  a  sea  nymph  with  a  fish's  tail.     Mermaid  is 
from  Fr.  mer,  sea,  and  Eng.  maid. 

3.  "The  story  of  its  spreading  a  sail  is  as  fabulous  as  the  similar  story 
regarding  the  argonaut."  — CHAMBERS. 

4.  The    shell    is    camerated,    or   divided    into    chambers,    by   transverse 
curved  partitions  of  shelly  matter. 

5.  Triton  =  a  fabled  sea  demigod,  the  trumpeter  of  Neptune. 

CONTENTMENT. 

This  poem  is  introduced  in  the  "Autocrat"  as  follows:  "Should  you 
like  to  hear  what  moderate  wishes  life  brings  one  to  at  last?  I  used  to  be 
very  ambitious,  — wasteful,  extravagant,  and  luxurious  in  all  my  fancies.  Read 
too  much  in  the  'Arabian  Nights.'  Must  have  the  lamp,  —  couldn't  do 
without  the  ring.  Exercise  every  morning  on  the  brazen  horse.  Plump 
down  into  castles  as  full  of  little  milk-white  princesses  as  a  nest  is  of  young 
sparrows.  All  love  me  dearly  at  once.  Charming  idea  of  life,  but  too  high- 
colored  for  the  reality.  I  have  outgrown  all  this  ;  my  tastes  have  become 
exceedingly  primitive, — -almost,  perhaps,  ascetic.  We  carry  happiness  into 
our  condition,  but  must  not  hope  to  find  it  there.  I  think  you  will  be  willing 
to  hear  some  lines  which  embody  the  subdued  and  limited  desires  of  my 
maturity." 

1.  Flenipo  =  plenipotentiary ;  an  ambassador  or  envoy  to  a  foreign  Court, 
furnished  with  full  power  to  negotiate  a  treaty  or  transact  other  business. 

2.  St.   James  =  the  English  Court,  so  called   from  the  Palace  of  St. 
James,  used  for  Court  purposes. 

3.  See  the  sketch  of  Holmes  for  a  remark  on  this  stanza. 

4.  Titian  (1477-1576)  was  the  head  of  the  Venetian  school,  and  one  of 
the  greatest  painters  that  ever  lived.     The  number  of  his  works  exceeds  six 
hundred. 

5.  Raphael  (1483-1520),  called  by  his  countrymen    "the  divine,"  is 
ranked  by  almost  universal  consent  as  the  greatest  of  painters. 

6.  Turner  (1775—1851)  was  the  greatest  of  British  landscape  painters. 
By  his  industry  and  thrift  he  amassed  a  fortune  of  a  million  dollars. 

7.  Stradivarius  (1644-1737)  was  a  distinguished  maker  of  violins.     In 
this  connection  the  following  extract  from  Holmes's  biography  will  be  read 
with  interest:   "  At  one  time  the  Doctor  was  seized  with  an  ardent  desire  to 
learn  to  play  upon  the  violin.      I  think  there  was  not  the  slightest  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  ever  could  learn,  and  certainly  he  never  did ;  but  he  used 
to  shut  himself  up  in  his  little  '  study,'  beside  the  front  door  in  the  Charles- 
street  house,  and  fiddle  away  with  surprising  industry,  and  a  satisfaction  out 
of  all  proportion  to  his  achievement.     After  two  or  three  winters  he  reached 


NOTES   TO  HOLMES.  491 

a  point  at  which  he  could  make  several  simple  tunes  quite  recognizable,  and 
then  finally  desisted  from  what  would  have  been  a  waste  of  time  had  it  not 
been  a  recreation." 

8.  Buhl  =  a   light  and  complicated  figure  of  brass,  unburnished  gold, 
etc.,  set  as  an  ornament  into  surfaces  of  ebony  or  other  dark  wood. 

9.  Midas  —  a  Phrygian  king,  to  whom  was  granted  the  wish  that  what- 
ever he  touched  might  turn  into  gold. 

THE  DEACON'S  MASTERPIECE. 

This  is  the  best-known  and  the  most  popular  of  Holmes's  humorous 
pieces.  At  the  Breakfast  Table  one  morning  "  the  young  fellow  whom  they 
call  John"  had  proposed  some  conundrums  before  the  Autocrat  made  his 
appearance.  The  Autocrat  disapproved  of  their  trifling  character.  Then, 
as  introductory  to  the  poem:  "  I  am  willing,  —  I  said,  —  to  exercise  your 
ingenuity  in  a  rational  and  contemplative  manner.  No,  I  do  not  proscribe 
certain  forms  of  philosophical  speculation  which  involve  an  approach  to  the 
absurd  or  the  ludicrous,  such  as  you  may  find,  for  example,  in  the  folio  of 
the  Reverend  Father  Thomas  Sanchez,  in  his  famous  Disputations,  '  De 
Sancto  Matrimonio.'  I  will  therefore  turn  this  levity  of  yours  IT  profit  by 
reading  you  a  rhymed  problem,  wrought  out  by  my  friend  the  Professor." 


INDEX. 


Abbott,  Jacob,  95. 

Abbott,  John  S.  C.,  95. 

Alcott,  Amos  Bronson,  91. 

Alcott,  Louisa  M.,  256. 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  253. 

Allston,  Washington,  93,  no. 

American  literature,  3;  development  in 
present  century,  4 ;  favorable  condi- 
tions, 5 ;  periods,  6. 

Articles  of  Confederation,  65. 

Bancroft,  George,  16,  94. 

Barlow,  Joel,  59,  70. 

Bay  Psalm  Book,  18. 

Berkeley,  Bishop,  35. 

Berkeley,  Sir  William,  14. 

Blair,  Rev.  James,  14. 

Blair,  William,  31 

Boyesen,  Hjalmar  Hjorth,  255. 

Bradford,  William,  9. 

Bradstreet,  Anne,  10. 

Brainerd,  David,  31. 

Brook  Farm,  107,  171. 

Brown,  Charles  Brockden,  59,  68. 

Browne,  Charles  F.,  256. 

Browning,  Mrs.,  quoted,  160. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  sketch  of,  134  ; 
upright  character,  134  ;  moral  element 
in  literature,  134  ;  ancestry,  135  ; 
childish  precocity,  135  ;  poetic  bent, 
136;  legal  studies,  136;  as  a  lawyer, 
137  ;  love  of  nature,  137  ;  "  Thanatop- 
sis,"  138;  "To  a  Waterfowl,"  139; 
marriage,  140;  domestic  life,  140;  "A 
Forest  Hymn,"  140;  "Death  of  the 
Flowers,"  141;  "Journey  of  Life," 
141  ;  Evening  Post,  142 ;  prose  writ- 


ings, 142  ;  advice  to  a  young  man, 
142;  peculiarities,  143;  travels,  143; 
addresses,  143 ;  as  a  poet,  144 ;  "  The 
Poet,"  144;  on  poetic  style,  145;  his 
poems  abroad,  145  ;  relations  with  Ir- 
ving, 145  ;  critique  of  his  poetry,  146  ; 
translations,  147;  country  residences, 
148 ;  religious  views,  148 ;  death,  149 ; 
estimate  of,  149. 

Burnett,  Frances  Hodgson,  255. 

Burroughs,  John,  256. 

Byles,  Mather,  31. 

Byrd,  William,  31. 

Cable,  George  W.,  255. 

Carleton,  Will,  257. 

Gary,  Alice,  257. 

Gary,  Phoebe,  257. 

Censorship  of  Press,  34. 

Channing,  William  Ellery,  91. 

Child,  Lydia  Maria,  93. 

Children's  Age,  268. 

Civil  War,  effect  of,  260. 

Clarke,  James  Freeman,  168,  254. 

Clemens,  Samuel  L.,  256. 

Colonies,  tendency  to  union,  36,  38. 

Colonists,  American,  35. 

Colonization,  English,  French,  and 
Spanish,  n,  38. 

Constitution  adopted,  66 ;  ratified,  67. 

Continental  Congress,  63. 

Convention  of  Albany,  39. 

Cooke,  John  Esten,  256. 

Cooke,  Rose  Terry,  254. 

Cooper,  James  Fenimore,  sketch  of,  122  ; 
a  national  writer,  122  ;  early  years, 
122;  defective  education,  123;  enters 


493 


494 


INDEX. 


the  navy,  123  ;  marriage,  124  ;  "  Pre- 
caution," 124  ;  "  The  Spy,"  125  ;  "  The 
Pioneers,"  125;  "The  Pirate,"  126; 
"  Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  126  ;  in  New 
York,  127  ;  goes  abroad,  127  ;  literary 
work  there,  128;  controversies,  128; 
return  to  America,  129;  libel  suits, 
129;  "History  of  U.  S.  Navy,"  130; 
Leatherstocking  Series,  130 ;  his  opin- 
ion of,  131 ;  estimate  of,  131 ;  critique 
of  his  writings,  132. 

Cotton,  John,  9. 

Crawford,  F.  Marion,  254. 

Curtis,  George  William,  245. 

Dana,  Richard  Henry,  94. 
Deland,  Margaret,  255. 
De  Quincey,  quoted,  168. 
Dial,  The,  106,171. 
Dodge,  Mary  A.,  257. 
Drake,  Joseph  Rodman,  91. 
Dwight,  Timothy,  59,  68. 

Edinburgh  Review,  quoted,  102. 

Education,  in  First  Colonial  Period,  16; 
in  Second,  34 ;  in  First  National  Pe- 
riod, 98  ;  at  present,  262. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  sketch  of,  51;  char- 
acter, 51  ;  ancestry,  51 ;  precocity,  52  ; 
student  in  Yale,  52  ;  religious  interest, 
53 ;  preacher  in  New  York,  53 ;  tutor 
in  Yale,  53 ;  his  resolutions,  53 ;  in 
Northampton,  54  ;  studious  habits,  54 ; 
as  a  preacher,  54;  "Some  Thoughts 
Concerning  the  Present  Revival  of 
Religion  in  New  England,"  55 ;  re- 
signs, 55  ;  at  Stockbridge,  56  ;  "  Free- 
dom of  the  Will,"  56  ;  call  to  Princeton, 
56 ;  "  History  of  Redemption,"  57 ;  es- 
timate of,  58. 

Eggleston,  Edward,  256. 

Eliot,  John,  9. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  sketch  of,  164; 
a  great  thinker,  164 ;  a  seer,  165 ; 
idealists  and  mystics,  165 ;  sturdy 
sense,  166  ;  ancestry,  166  ;  as  teacher, 
166;  as  preacher,  167;  goes  abroad, 


167 ;  as  lecturer,  168 ;  at  Concord, 
169;  "Concord  Hymn,"  169;  "Na- 
ture," 170;  Transcendental  Club,  170; 
transcendentalism,  1 70 ;  The  Dial, 
171;  Brook  Farm,  171;  "Essays," 

1 72  ;  philosophy  of,  1 73 ;  studious  life, 

1 73  ;  "  Threnody,"  1 74  ;  second  series 
of  "Essays,"   174;    address  at  Cam- 
bridge,  174;    "Representative  Men," 
175;  "Poems,"  175;  critique  of,  175; 
student  of  nature,  177;  literary  meth- 
ods, 1 79 ;  last  years,  1 79. 

England  and  France  in  America,  37. 
Evans,  Augusta  J.,  257. 
Everett,  Alexander  H.,  92. 
Everett,  Edward,  92. 

«  Federalist,  The,"  66. 

Federalists  and  Anti-Federalists,  66. 

Field,  Eugene,  256. 

Fields,  James  T.,  94. 

First  Colonial  Period,  u. 

First  National  Period,  97. 

Fiske,  John,  254. 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  sketch  of,  41  ;  popu- 
larity, 41 ;  fondness  for  reading,  41  ; 
style  formed  on  Spectator,  42  ;  learns 
printing,  42  ;  in  Philadelphia,  43 ;  in 
England,  43;  with  Keimer,  43;  lite- 
rary club,  44  ;  self-control,  44  ;  modesty 
of  statement,  44;  business  methods, 
45  ;  founds  a  newspaper,  45  ;  "  Poor 
Richard's  Almanac,"  46;  public  spir- 
ited citizen,  46  ;  linguistic  studies,  47; 
delegate  to  Albany  Convention,  47; 
in  Braddock's  campaign,  48  ;  electrical 
experiments,  48  ;  representative  abroad, 
49 ;  governor  of  Pennsylvania,  49 ; 
last  years,  50. 

Freneau,  Philip,  59,  68. 

Garrison,  William  Lloyd,  103. 
Gilder,  Richard  Watson,  253. 
Goodrich,  Samuel  G.,  94. 
Griswold,  Rufus  W.,  159,  162. 
Guizot,  quoted,  88. 


INDEX. 


495 


Hale,  Edward  Everett,  254. 

Hale,  Sarah  Josepha,  92. 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  92. 

Hamilton,  Alexander,  sketch  of,  81 ;  an- 
cestry, 81  ;  youthful  ambition,  Si ;  lit- 
erary bent,  82  ;  espouses  Colonial 
cause,  82;  pamphlets,  83;  faces  a 
mob,  83  ;  studies  military  science,  83  ; 
on  Washington's  staff,  84 ;  quarrel, 
84 ;  popularity,  85  ;  marriage,  85  ;  in 
Congress,  86  ;  "  Federalist,"  86,  87  ;  in 
N.  Y.  Convention,  87;  Secretary  of 
Treasury,  88  ;  relations  with  Jefferson, 
88 ;  as  statesman,  88 ;  as  lawyer,  89 ; 
duel  with  Burr,  89;  character,  89; 
Kent's  tribute,  90. 

Harte,  Francis  Bret,  253. 

Harvard  College,  17,  99. 

Hawthorne,  Julian,  255. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  sketch  of,  181 ; 
genius,  181 ;  ancestry,  181 ;  boyhood, 
182 ;  at  college,  182 ;  literary  bent, 
183 ;  reading,  183 ;  studious  habits, 
184;  critique  of  style,  184;  "Twice- 
Told  Tales,"  184  ;  Longfellow's  criti- 
cism, 185  ;  Boston  custom-house,  185  ; 
Brook  Farm,  185  ;  habits  of  observa- 
tion, 186;  marriage,  187;  "Mosses 
from  an  Old  Manse,"  187;  custom- 
house at  Salem,  188;  "The  Scarlet 
Letter,"  189 ;  "  House  of  Seven  Ga- 
bles," 190  ;  "  Wonder-Book,"  and 
"Tanglewood  Tales,"  190;  consul  to 
Liverpool,  191;  "Our  Old  Home," 
191 ;  "  Marble  Faun,"  192  ;  sense  of 
human  guilt,  192  ;  last  years,  192 ;  es- 
timate of,  192. 

Hayne,  Paul  H.,  257. 

Holland,  J.  G.,  95,  149. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  sketch  of,  239 ; 
popularity,  239;  characteristics,  239; 
distrust  of  men  of  wit,  240  ;  belief  in 
heredity,  240  ;  ancestry,  240  ;  "  Auto- 
biographical Notes,"  240 ;  manner  of 
reading,  241  ;  at  Harvard,  241 ;  "class 
of  '29,"  241  ;  studies  medicine  and 
goes  abroad,  241;  "Old  Ironsides," 


242;  practising  physician,  242;  lec- 
tures at  Dartmouth,  243  ;  first  volume 
of  verse,  243  ;  "  The  Last  Leaf,"  243  ; 
marriage,  243 ;  professor  at  Harvard, 
244 ;  as  popular  lecturer,  244  ;  "  Auto- 
crat of  Breakfast  Table,"  244 ;  "  The 
Chambered  Nautilus,"  245  ;  "  Content- 
ment," 245  ;  Saturday  Club,  246 ;  Bos- 
ton's laureate,  246;  theological  pro- 
clivities, 246 ;  "  Professor  at  Breakfast 
Table,"  247;  "Poet  at  Breakfast  Ta- 
ble," 247 ;  novels,  248  ;  as  biographer, 
248 ;  resigns,  249 ;  "  One  Hundred 
Days  in  Europe,"  249;  "Over  the 
Teacups,"  249;  last  days,  250;  char- 
acter, 250. 

Hopkinson,  Francis,  59. 

Hopkinson,  Joseph,  59. 

Howells,  W.  D.,  253,  265. 

Humor,  American,  268. 

International  Relations,  262. 

Irving,  Washington,  sketch  of,  108 ; 
Thackeray's  remark,  108  ;  his  name, 
108;  education,  108  ;  excursions,  109; 
visit  to  Europe,  109 ;  philosophic 
spirit,  no;  interest  in  painting,  no; 
Salmagundi,  in;  in  politics,  in; 
early  romance,  112  ;  "  Knickerbocker," 
112;  merchandizing,  112;  in  Wash- 
ington, 112;  Select  Reviews,  113;  in 
Europe,  113;  "Sketch  Book,"  114; 
its  reception,  1 1 5  ;"  Bracebridge  Hall," 
115;  "Tales  of  a  Traveller,"  116; 
"  Life  of  Columbus,"  1 16 ;  "  Conquest 
of  Granada,"  116;  "The  Alhambra," 
117;  Secretary  of  legation,  117;"  Tour 
on  Prairie,"  117;  Sunnyside,  118; 
prominence,  118  ;  literary  labors,  118; 
minister  to  Spain,  119;"  Life  of  Gold- 
smith," 119;  "Life  of  Washington," 
120;  character,  120. 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt,  257. 
James,  Henry,  253. 
Jamestown,  settlement  of,  n. 
Jefferson,  Thomas,  62;   sketch  of,  71; 


INDEX. 


great  epochs  and  great  men,  71 ;  rank, 
71;  ancestry,  71;  education,  72;  law 
student,  72 ;  as  lawyer,  72 ;  member 
of  House  of  Burgesses,  73  ;  marriage, 
73  ;  committee  of  correspondence,  74 ; 
day  of  fasting  and  prayer,  74  ;  "  Rights 
of  British  America,"  74 ;  Continental 
Congress,  75  ;  "  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence," 75,  76;  Virginia  legisla- 
ture, 76  ;  educational  system,  76  ;  va- 
rious positions,  77  ;  Secretary  of  State, 
77  ;  Democratic  leader,  77  ;  president, 
78;  administration,  78;  University  of 
Virginia,  79  ;  character,  79. 

Jesuits  in  America,  38. 

Jewett,  Sarah  Orne,  255. 

Johnson,  Edward,  9. 

Johnston,  Richard  Malcolm,  256. 

Kennedy,  John  P.,  93. 

Lanier,  Sidney,  257. 

Larcom,  Lucy,  258. 

Lazarus,  Emma,  257. 

Leland,  Charles  G.,  257. 

Literature,  study  of,  i ;  definition,  i ; 
determining  factors,  2 ;  American,  3- 
6 ;  259  ;  literary  centres,  266  ;  critical 
independence,  267. 

Livingston,  William,  31. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  sketch 
of,  194 ;  popularity,  194 ;  calm  life, 
194;  ancestry,  195;  early  surround- 
ings, 195 ;  at  college,  195  ;  literary 
bent,  196;  professor  at  Bowdoin,  196; 
goes  abroad,  196;  "  Outre  Mer,"  197; 
marriage,  197  ;  "  Footsteps  of  Angels," 
197;  called  to  Harvard,  198;  "Hype- 
rion," 198  ;  as  a  teacher,  198 ;  "  Three 
Friends  of  Mine,"  199;  "Voices  of 
the  Night,"  199  ;  "  Ballads  and 
Other  Poems,"  200;  critique,  200; 
"  The  Spanish  Student,"  201  ;  "  Poems 
on  Slavery,"  201  ;  "  Poets  and  Poetry 
of  Europe,"  202;  "  Evangel! ne,"  203; 
unfavorable  criticism,  204  ;  "  Kavan- 
agh,"  204  ;  "  The  Seaside  and  the  Fire- 


side," 204;  resignation  at  Harvard, 
205  ;  "  Hiawatha,"  205  ;  "  The  Court- 
ship of  Miles  Standish,"  206 ;  "  Divine 
Comedy,"  208 ;  "  Tales  of  a  Wayside 
Inn,"  208  ;  trilogy  of  "  Christus,"  209  ; 
other  poems,  210;  death,  210. 

Lossing,  Benson  J.,  95. 

Louis  XIV.,  policy  of,  38. 

Lounsbury,  127. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  sketch  of,  211; 
varied  greatness,  211  ;  originality,  211  ; 
New  England  spirit,  212 ;  ancestry, 
212;  at  Harvard,  213;  "A  Year's 
Life,"  213;  Pioneer,  213;  second  Vol- 
ume of  poems,  213;  "Biglow  Pa- 
pers," 215;  "Vision  of  Sir  Launfal," 
216;  "A  Fable  for  Critics,"  217;  lec- 
tures on  British  poets,  218 ;  called  to 
Harvard,  218;  editor  Atlantic,  218; 
"  Fireside  Travels,"  219  ;  "  Under  the 
Willows,"  2 19;  Commemoration  odes, 
220;  "The  Cathedral,"  221;  prose 
writings,  222  ;  as  a  critic,  223  ;  minis- 
ter to  Spain  and  to  England,  223  ; 
"  Democracy  and  Other  Addresses," 
224 ;  estimate  of,  224. 

Madison,  James,  59. 

Marshall,  John,  59. 

Massachusetts,  settlement  of,  16. 

Mather,  Cotton,  sketch  of,  25  ;  literary 
prominence,  25  ;  ancestry,  25  ;  typical 
Puritan,  25  ;  as  a  preacher,  26 ;  mar- 
riage, 27;  industry,  27;  scholarship 
and  literary  activity,  27;  "  Magnalia 
Christi,"  28  ;  "  Bonifacius,"  29  ;  witch- 
craft tragedy,  29 ;  advocates  vaccina- 
tion, 30 ;  aspires  to  presidency  of 
Harvard,  30;  estimate  of,  30. 

Mather,  Increase,  10. 

Mayflower,  landing  of,  15. 

McMaster,  Si. 

Miller,  Cincinnatus  Heine,  257. 

Morris,  George  P.,  93. 

Motley,  John  Lothrop,  94. 

Moulton,  Louise  Chandler,  256. 

Murfree,  Mary  Noailles,  256. 


INDEX. 


497 


New  England,  settlement  of,  15;  popu- 
lar education,  16 ;  causes  of  literary 
eminence,  17,  100. 

News  Letter,  34. 

North  American  Review,  99. 

Osgood,  Francis  Sargent,  94. 
Ossoli,  Margaret  Fuller,  91. 

Page,  Thomas  Nelson,  255. 

Paine,  Thomas,  59. 

Palfrey,  James  Gorham,  94. 

Paulding,  James  K.,  91. 

Percival,  James  Gates,  92. 

Philosophy,  influence  of,  264. 

Plymouth,  settlement  of,  n. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  sketch  of,  150;  diffi- 
culty in  forming  estimate,  150;  pecu- 
liar place  in  literature,  150;  ancestry, 
150;  early  training,  151;  in  England, 
151;  at  University  of  Virginia,  152; 
seeking  his  fortune,  152  ;  in  the  army, 
153;  at  West  Point,  153;  his  poetic 
principle,  154;  "  Al  Aaraaf"  and  "  Is- 
rafel,"  154  ;  imitates  Moore  and  Byron, 
155  ;  "  A  MS.  Found  in  a  Bottle,"  156  ; 
Southern  Literary  Messenger,  156;  as 
critic,  156;  "Arthur  Gordon  Pym," 
157;  The  Gentleman 's  Magazine,  157; 
quarrel  with  Burton,  157;  edits  Gra- 
ham's Magazine,  158;  violent  criti- 
cism, 158  ;  Griswold's  description, 
159;  critique  of  his  tales,  159;  Even- 
ing Mirror,  1 60;  "The  Raven,"  160; 
Broadway  Journal,  160;  "Literati  of 
New  York,"  160 ;  principal  poems, 
161  ;  personal  traits,  162  ;  devotion  to 
his  wife,  162 ;  "  Eureka,"  163 ;  esti- 
mate of,  163. 

Poetry,  present  tendency,  269. 

Prescott,  William  Hickling,  94. 

Press,  periodical,  99  ;  influence  of,  260. 

Preston,  Margaret  J.,  258. 

Puritans,  15. 

Read,  Thomas  Buchanan,  95. 

Realism,  265 


Religion,  influence  of,  263. 

Revolution,  leaders  of,  61 ;  causes,  62 ; 
justice,  64. 

Revolutionary  Period,  61 ;  political  lit- 
erature, 63  ;  other  literature,  68. 

Riley,  James  Whitcomb,  257. 

Roe,  Edward  Payson,  255. 

Romanticism,  264. 

Ryan,  Abram  J.,  257. 

Sandys,  George,  9. 

Saxe,  John  Godfrey,  94. 

Science,  advance  of,  101. 

Scudder,  Horace  E.,  256. 

Second  Colonial  Period,  33. 

Second  National  Period,  259. 

Sedgwick,  Catharine  Maria,  93. 

Sewall,  Samuel,  31. 

Sigourney,  Lydia  Huntley,  93. 

Simms,  William  Gilmore,  93. 

Slavery,  103. 

Smith,  Captain  John,  romantic  life  and 
character,  20  ;  early  years,  20  ;  roving 
adventure,  21 ;  experiences  in  Mediter- 
ranean, 21  ;  fights  against  Turks,  21  ; 
capture  and  escape,  21  ;  at  Jamestown, 
22 ;  rescued  by  Pocahontas,  22  ;  acci- 
dent, 23 ;  testimony  of  companions, 
23 ;  voyage  to  New  England,  23 ;  list 
of  works,  23  ;  summary  of  his  life,  24 ; 
estimate  of,  24. 

Social  progress,  263. 

Spotswood,  Governor,  13. 

State  Rights,  103. 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence,  253. 

Stith,  William,  31. 

Stockton,  Frank  K.,  254. 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry,  253. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  95. 

Strachey,  William,  9. 

Tallyrand,  quoted,  88. 
Taylor,  Bayard,  95. 
Terhune,  Mary  V.,  256. 
Thackeray,  quoted,  108. 
Thaxter,  Celia,  258. 
Thomas,  Edith  M.,  258. 


498 


INDEX. 


Thompson,  James,  quoted,  2. 
Thompson,  Maurice,  257. 
Thoreau,  Henry  David,  91. 
Timrod,  Henry,  257. 
Transcendentalism,  105,  170. 
Trowbridge,  J.  T.,  254. 
Trumbull,  John,  59,  68. 
Tyler,  M.  C.,  14. 

Unitarian  controversy,  104. 
United  States,  growth  of,  97. 

Virginia,  settlement  of,  12  ;  literary  con- 
ditions, 13. 

Wallace,  Lewis,  255. 

War  of  1812,  67. 

Ward,  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps,  255. 

Ware,  William,  92. 

Warner,  Charles  Dudley,  120,  254. 

Washington,  first  president,  67. 

Whipple,  E.  P.,  254. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  254. 

Whitman,  Walt,  94. 

Whitney,  A.  D.  T.,  256. 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  sketch  of,  225  ; 

Quaker  ancestry,  225  ;  self-made,  225  ; 

"The  Barefoot  Boy,"  225;  influence 


of  Burns,  226  ;  acquaintance  with  Gar- 
rison, 226  ;  at  school,  226  ;  editor  Neie 
England  Weekly  Review,  227;  anti- 
slavery  labors,  227 ;  Pennsylvania 
Freeman,  228  ;  "  Voices  of  Freedom," 
228  ;  "  Mogg  Megone,"  etc.,  229  ;  dem- 
ocratic sympathies,  229  ;  "  Songs  of 
Labor,"  229;  early  romance,  230;  a 
bard  of  faith,  230  ;  National  Era,  231  ; 
"  The  Last  Walk  in  Autumn,"  231  ; 
"  Margaret  Smith's  Journal,"  etc.,  232  ; 
"  Home  Ballads,  Poems,  and  Lyrics," 
232  ;  "  In  War  Time,"  233  ;  *"  Barbara 
Frietchie,"  234  ;  "  Snow-Bound,"  234  ; 
"  The  Tent  on  the  Beach,"  236 ;  old 
age,  236  ;  critique,  237  ;  character,  237. 

Wilde,  Richard  Henry,  93. 

William  and  Mary  College,  14. 

Willis,  Nathaniel  P.,  93. 

Winsor,  Justin,  12. 

Winthrop,  John,  9. 

Wirt,  William,  59. 

Women  as  writers,  267. 

Woodworth,  Samuel,  92. 

Woolson,  Constance  Fenimore,  255. 

"  Yankee  Doodle,"  69. 


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